


It's All Been Done

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:59:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is back in the dating scene, and resorts to strange methods to get a phone number. He never thought it would work so fast, and he’s hoping this isn’t the worst idea he’s ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A coffee shop AU idea floating around in my head for my new fav OTP
> 
> ... and if anyone on here see's this and goes 'why isn't she updating her other fic?' it's cause it's on my other computer in storage and I'm going to try and get all my new chapters soon I promise!!!

“This is quite possibly the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” said Bruce, watching Clint with the marker and their small whiteboard. He was off work, but for whatever reason Banner had shown up, possibly to give Clint a hard time and rub it in that he had a week off.

Clint was currently assistant assistant manager (his title, and no it wasn’t great but he needed time to figure out a better one) of _Coffee Grounds,_ a semi-popular student hangout near the local University campus. A lot of people liked how it was such a narrow, eclectic looking shop, and how weird the playlist was. Rather than arguing over who played what each day, they’d all agreed to put in one song in their own turns until they’d complied something. Sigur Ros next to Barenaked Ladies next to Slayer never failed to throw people for a loop. Clint didn’t mind, he liked Bruce’s choice of high Icelandic crooning paired with the quirky shit he chose to annoy people.

Overall, Clint didn’t mind being a barista much. It was a job, by which Clint would mean he didn’t annoy the shit out of him, the pay was okay and the customers were interesting, and he actually liked his co-workers, sometimes. It was even a requirement to be nasty to rude customers, so Clint was kind of in heaven.

“You know, it’s kind of stupid to come into work on your vacation,” said Clint, glaring at him, dry erase marker cap clamped between his teeth.

Bruce shrugged his shoulders in a barely there gesture. He was dressed a lot nicer than usual too, Clint noticed. He rolled his eyes, going back to his whiteboard. That just meant his boyfriend, the rich and insanely smart guy who already had a doctorate and was Bruce’s age, was going to be coming there to pick up and take him somewhere. Hopefully for the rest of the week. Clint was the stand in assistant manager, he didn’t need Bruce showing up to steal his thunder at any point in the week.

“There,” said Clint. He spat out the cap into his hand. Bruce wrinkled his nose, and Clint wiped his hand on his pants.

“I really hope you wash your hands before you serve another customer,” said Bruce, watching Clint take his new creation to the window.

“No, I’m going to rub them on the dirt on the sidewalk. I’m also going to pick gum off my shoe, too, get my fingernails nice and black and sticky.” He set the sign in the window, smiling proudly.

“You know, that takes rebound fuck to a _whole new_ _level_ right there.”

Clint ignored him, feeling a bit stung, as he returned to the counter. Clint started washing his hands at the sink. It was _not_ his fault how everything had gone down. He’d just ignored every single warning ever about the treacherous waters of dating an older man, and had paid the price. “It’s not like anyone’s actually going to listen to it, it’s just a joke,” he muttered, shaking water from his fingertips.

“What’s a joke?” asked Natasha, their baker and coffee art whiz. She was fresh from the back, a few cute smudges of flour on her shirt. She was also Clint’s other best friend, and possessed a subtle dry wit that Clint envied.

Bruce took a few steps to the window and swung around the sign Clint had made.

She raised an eyebrow. “Really, Clint?”

“Shut up,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Everyone was a critic. “Be useful. Bake scones and shortbread and whatever else.”

“Scones are in the oven,” said Natasha, leaning against the counter, cutting a classic profile. She was the perfect haughty redheaded barista, the type hipster guys seemed to like. They had never met Natasha, who enjoyed making the average hipster cry into his flat white. “Why are you here, Bruce?”

“Clint torture before Tony comes and gets me.”

“Ah. The preferred pastime... well, most people wouldn’t add the Tony in.” She smirked.

“Actually, the preferred pastime when Tony is around usually involves blowjobs.”

Clint rolled his eyes and busied himself with washing the mugs that had accumulated during their afternoon rush, listening to Natasha and Bruce talk about the merits of Tony Stark in bed (apparently Natasha had dated him briefly, Clint never asked, he didn’t want to know). Right now the little shop was completely dead, in that hour poised between school and the library crowd. All too soon Clint would be rushing his ass off.

The bell rang, and Clint turned to give his usual ‘oh look a customer’ smile. _“Welcome to Coffee Grounds!”_  

Clint sort of did a double take though, when he got a look at who had come in. One was tall, had longish dark hair, wore a leather jacket, and was _built._ The other was blond and looked like a good breeze would knock him over. Clint didn’t recognize either of them, but they were probably going to the University.

“Aww, how _cute_. He’s so eager,” said the bigger guy with a leer.

“Bucky,” said the other with an air of forced patience.

“Oh, shove off Steve, I’m only testing him.” ‘Bucky’ smirked at Clint, and Clint recognized the glint of a similar sense of humor looking back at him.

 _He’s perfect,_ thought Clint.

“He also sits up and begs, but that costs extra,” said Natasha, standing up straighter.

“Don’t mind my temperamental female _underling,”_ Clint gave her a sneer as his face flushed a little, Natasha gave him the finger. “Take a look at the board, gentlemen, see if there’s anything you like.”

‘Steve’ was all elbows and knees and had an unhealthy look like he’d just grown five inches in a matter of days. Clint judged they were around his height and around eighteen. Late, for a growth spurt. Steve was so skinny Clint figured he should be at least five inches shorter, and hoped for the poor guy’s sake he filled out a touch.

“Um, I’ll have a grande chai tea latte,” said Steve, flicking hair from his eyes.

“We don’t speak Italian here,” said Clint, and Bucky grinned, gave his companion a nudge that almost knocked them over.

“See, Steve? Not everyone is Starbucks.” Steve flushed pink. Bucky stepped closer. His eyes were deep brown, one of which was bruised, a fresh purple. “I’ll have the special.”

Clint’s blush was instantaneous, and he saw Bruce’s jaw drop out of the corner of his eye. Natasha merely stood, fetching a medium cup as she started on the chai latte. Clint supposed she must have missed _that_ part of the sign. Or of course she had her poker face on, and the second this guy left Clint was _never_ going to hear the end of it.

“I mean, I’m assuming he didn’t make it,” said Bucky looking over at Bruce, who shook his head, composure regained. He was now staring critically at Bucky. “And I know she’s not the kind to write that sign. I also think that if anyone ever gave them her number she’d make them cry.”

“Like a baby,” Natasha smirked, her hand on the steamer. Only she could make steaming milk look aggressive. “You going to be okay, Clint, or are you and he going to go fuck on the coffee beans? Which I don’t recommend, by the way. Burlap scratches. And it’s rush hour soon.”

“Wow, thanks for the mental image, Tash,” said Bruce. There was a honk, and Bruce snatched up his satchel and gave Clint a meaningful look as he whisked out the door to where Stark and his expensive car were waiting. Clint already knew he’d be talking for an hour on the phone about this man later that night. Quite probably about how bad an idea it was.

Clint looked back to Bucky, his gaze flicked up and down. God, he was _hot._ And not just in the usual hot way, but in the line of his lips and his eyes and that fuck me phonesex voice. Clint couldn’t stop thinking of where this could possibly going. “I think the special was, you give me your number.”

Bucky smiled, stepping up to the counter. His presence was impressive, probably imposing to most people. Clint knew he shouldn’t be taking this guy’s number, the sign was a stupid joke and Bruce was right, he wasn’t ready and probably wouldn’t be for a long time, but he wasn’t about to turn him away. Not this guy.

Bucky reached out, plucked Clint’s pen from his apron pocket, and scrawled a number down on a napkin. He folded it, still smiling, and tucked it into the pocket with the pen. Clint tried to ignore the flutters the touch brought, as Bucky blatantly invaded his personal space and Clint did absolutely nothing to dissuade him.

“Anything else?” Clint asked, resisting the urge to add some suggestion to his words.

Steve paid and took his latte, and Bucky shook his head. “I’m more of a Mexican coffee drinker, and you guys seem to be Kona people, so I’ll pass.”

“We have a variety of blends,” said Natasha, leaning against the back counter.

Bucky looked over and shrugged. “And yet, still not the ones I want. When you’ve got a Mexican blonde roast, I’m here.” He smirked a touch, looking back at Clint. “I like the caffeine boosts for work.”

 _Aaaand he knows his coffee,_ thought Clint. He was liking this guy more and more with each passing moment and wow that was probably bad because this was just like with Phil, and-

“Bucky. Appointment. You’ve ogled enough.” Clint thought this sounded rather like old hat for Steve and felt a bolt of worry, but then Bucky was talking again and Clint couldn’t help but focus on him completely. Less than five minutes and he was already crushing hard on this guy. Clint hoped this wasn’t a bad idea.

“Hope to talk to you soon...” Bucky’s eyes dipped down, raked over Clint’s nametag, then came back up. He was smiling almost salaciously. “Clint.”

They left the store, the bell rang, and it shut. Natasha walked over to the window and pulled the sign down and wiped it with a rag. “Just so you know, that was Bucky Barnes, and he has a bit of a reputation on the campus.”

Clint didn’t go to school, he was a drop out in fact. He looked over at her, raised an eyebrow as his hand worked its way into his pocket. The feel of the napkin should not have been that reassuring. “How do you mean?”

“He’s got a penchant for sex, booze, and fist fights.”

Clint really, really hoped this wasn’t a bad idea.

“I like two of those things, sometimes all three. I’m going to call him.” He pulled a rag and started wiping tables. “I mean, when I don’t seem like a desperate freak.”

“Clint, you just propositioned the public at large with a damn sign. He already _knows_ you’re a desperate freak.”

Clint rolled his eyes. He hated it when she was right.


	2. Chapter 2

There seemed to be some kind of romantic notion portrayed about media, possibly because of Friends or whatever, that coffee shops were really quite romantic and hip. _Maybe,_ thought Clint, resigned to having to clean up a washroom that catered to coffee addicts and caffeine’s diuretic properties, _they wouldn’t think this if they actually worked at one._

Sure, Clint really liked his job. It beat the hell out of some of the others he’d had throughout his life and especially the last one, but it was just a job. It certainly wasn’t a career. He wasn’t baking award winning pastries and running his own business, he was a grunt, which explained why he was replacing the urinal cakes and pulling out the mop.

He dragged the cleaning bucket out of the bathroom and pulled off the ‘Cleaning’ sign. Natasha gave him a smirk as he dragged said bucket into the back room.

“I’m pretty sure, since I’m assistant manager for the week, you should be doing this,” he complained.

“It’s your week, I did it last week,” she reminded him, carefully pouring one of the last cups of the night. Clint looked over her shoulder as he passed, heading to the sink. She was making a galaxy design in the foam, and Clint was a little jealous of her talent. Whatever, though, he could make a mean powdered Matcha.

He finished washing his hands and checked the clock, one of those swinging tail cat pieces, and pounded his fist into the air. “I’m off. Enjoy your remaining hour and a half of serving coffee,” he said, untying his apron. He hung it on the peg, snatched up a blackberry peach scone, and headed for the door.

“Don’t call him tonight!” Natasha called after Clint.

Clint waved his hand with the scone, while the other snaked into his pocket to touch the napkin. It was reassuring, in a way.

He munched his scone, looking into the windows of closing shops and trying not to think about everything Natasha had told him about Bucky Barnes and how calling him probably really was a stupid idea. Clint at least was known for stupid ideas.

The spring weather meant the sky was a gloomy, overcast sort of gray, and the streets were silver with a recent rainfall. Clint pulled his hood over his head as he started the walk to his apartment, sort of missing Bruce because at least Bruce would give him a ride in bad weather.

He lived fairly close by with Thorvald Odinson, although he didn’t see him often. He was busy with school most of the time, or working nights to pay for it even though his father apparently had a ton of money. It was cool, though, rooming with him. The parties were always spontaneous and exciting, and Thor wasn’t super messy or anything.

He opened the door, stomped off his shoes. “Yo!” he yelled, kicking them off. Place smelled like food, which was a plus. Didn’t sound like party or sex, another big plus. Clint wanted to call Bucky in peace... if he called Bucky. _As if you haven’t already made up your mind, Barton,_ he thought.

“Hello, Clint!” called Thor. He came into the room only wearing jeans and _damn,_ thought Clint, trying not to ogle because fucking and roommates did not go together. If Thor hadn’t been straight, Clint would have tried a long time ago, consequences be damned. “How was work this evening?”

“Good,” he said. He made his way into the kitchen. Apparently one of Thor’s buddies had been over and left food, and he helped himself to cold spaghetti. It was an unspoken rule that unless leftovers were packed up and labeled they were free game.

“Phil called.”

Clint froze, the spoon plopping into the sauce. He recovered a moment later, trying to keep casual. “Oh?”

“He wished for me to pass on that he has some of your things.”

Clint swallowed. “How nice.” _I’d rather die than go to his place and pick up some stupid box of shirts. Although he has my TMNT shirt. I liked that shirt._

Thor didn’t say anything, and Clint finished spooning sauce on his spaghetti. He sat down at the island and started eating, somewhat mechanically. He kept thinking of that number in his pocket, how this was likely the stupidest idea he ever had, and-

He licked spaghetti sauce from his lips. Thor had gotten a beer from the refrigerator. “I got someone’s number today.”

Thor turned, looking surprised. He took a quick pull of his ale and set it down. “And?”

“And I don’t know. Natasha thinks it’s a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“I got it because I wrote a sign begging for a phone number.”

Thor grinned at him. Usually when something was a bad idea, both Thor and Tony Stark seemed to like it, and Clint felt his stomach drop a touch. Normally he was right on up there with them, stupid decisions and ideas were like his life. He pushed some spaghetti around on his plate while Thor waited for him to continue. Thor was probably the nicest guy Clint knew, looked sort of like a puppy. A really very cut puppy, mind, but a puppy.

“He has a reputation.”

Thor frowned at him now. “Why should you be worried about his reputation? Is he not for a distraction?” Thor also had a sort of super-polite and odd way of speaking, probably thanks to his mother.

Clint nodded after a moment. This made sense. Sure he _loved_ how Bucky Barnes looked, and so far he respected his sense of humour, but he had no idea what kind of man he was. And besides, wounds were still left from Phil, hardly healed at all. Bucky Barnes would be nothing more than a very welcome distraction. Hopefully he knew how to use those gorgeous lips.

“This is true,” he said, feeling hungry again. He started to eat, thinking. Thor spoke about his day, and about how he had a date with Jane later to go see some movie, and Clint nodded in the right places as he finished. The spaghetti was great. He half wondered if Loki or Frigga had come by to cook it, but didn’t ask. He didn’t get on well with Loki at all, and Frigga adored him to the point where she was relegated to ‘over affectionate aunt’ status.

He hopped off the stool and washed his plate while Thor put away leftovers.

“So you will call this man?”

Clint shrugged. Beat the hell out of calling Phil. “He already thinks I’m desperate, why pretend I’m not?”

Thor gave him a look. “It’s only been a few months,” he said.

Clint flinched, set his plate on the drying rack. “Showering and stuff. Have a good time tonight.” As per usual, when people really start to bring up Phil, he shut down. Bad situations were better left un-thought about and unsaid, so he turned and left without another word.

When he was done showering he laid in bed, hair still damp, and wearing just a pair of boxers. He was staring at the crumpled up napkin with Bucky’s number on it. He had already gotten three text messages from Bruce telling him not to do it, to wait a bit, and seven from Natasha, all ranging from work stuff to ‘Barton that is a bad idea.’ He’d ignored them all so far. Thor had made a damn good point. Why should he give a shit about seeming desperate? He’d written a fucking sign, and all he _wanted_ was a hook-up. Everything from Phil was too raw and painful to even consider trying anything long term. What he wanted was a distraction, and Bucky Barnes with his stupidly good looking face and body, was going to be that distraction.

Well, provided the number was real.

He sighed heavily, and flipped the phone open. Again, this was likely in the top ten of his list of dumb ideas, but he’d come to accept that. If Bruce could fuck Tony goddamn Stark, and make it _work_ , then Clint could have this.

He dialed the number and pressed send before he could chicken out. When he’d wanted to call Phil the first time he’d been wracked over it for an hour before Phil had just called him. He wasn’t about to let himself ache and whine over this, and Bucky wouldn’t be calling him. It was _all_ on Clint.

He held his phone to his ear, foot tapping on thin air.

 _Pick up. Please pick up. Please please please pick up. Oh god please._ By the fifth ring he was ready to hear that voice say _‘You’ve reached the voice mail box of Bucky Barnes’_ and he was despairing, because if there was one thing that made him anxious it was talking to the box and leaving any sort of message.

Thankfully, the receiver picked up.

Not so thankfully, a _woman_ answered and Clint felt his heart sink.

“Hello?” she asked, sounding a touch wary. Clint supposed that was because of a lack of call ID.

“Um, hey. Is, uh, is Bucky there?” he asked. At least he wasn’t a girl asking for Bucky, because wow hello awkward, having your girlfriend or whatever answer the phone, and-

“Oh, yeah, my brother’s around. BUCKY!” Clint flinched back from the receiver, but he sighed loudly, pounded his fist into the air. Sister he could deal with. Sister was fine. Possible girlfriends with a boyfriend who liked to sneak about with boys not so much.

He waited for a moment, heard a laughing voice that sent a shiver of anticipation into his stomach and he held his breath. There was a rustle, and then that perfect voice was there. “Hello?”

“Hey, Bucky. It’s Clint.”

“Ohhhhhh,” he could hear the delighted grin coming through the phone. “I wondered if you might call. Steve was sure you wouldn’t.”

“My friends said I shouldn’t.” He winced a little, wondering why he admitted to that. Why he was even _calling_ because, shit, he didn’t know this guy, just knew he liked sex and drinking and partying, and fighting. That was literally all he knew.

“Do you often ignore their advice?”

Clint shrugged to himself. “Depends on the situation.”

“Sounds like me.” Clint could imagine that smile, and that phone-sex fucking voice, both of them made his stomach flutter a little. He wanted to get to know him (and he insisted to himself it was just between the sheets, that was all). “So... you decided against advice to call this mystery man. So Clint, so far all I know about you is you’re creative, work in a coffee shop bereft of Mexican roasts, and your first name. Oh, and that you’re gorgeous, but I guess that goes without saying. And all you know about me is your friends thought I was trouble. I think we ought to fix the situation. I’ll take you out, we’ll talk, I’ll learn more about you and you will find out I absolutely _am_ trouble. What do you think?”

Clint felt all his words sort of dry up on that last one. He licked his lips, trying to focus some kind of half decent fucking reply beyond his lips but he was kind of stuck. He let out a short breath. “Yeah. Yeah, sounds awesome,” he said. He hoped Bruce would loan him his car. He really, _really_ hoped Bruce would loan him his car.

“How big is your head?”

Clint paused, his anxiety at getting asked out forgotten. “Sorry?”

“Your head. How big?”

Clint blinked. “I don’t know, average sized?”

“Good. You work tomorrow?”

Clint nodded, and felt dumb a moment later because hello, telephone. “Yeah. I work ‘till close, so nine o’clock.”

“Good. Pick you up then, we’ll have a meal or a drink or something.”

“O-okay,” he said. There were butterflies in his stomach partying like it was the goddamn new year, and Clint squirmed a bit on the bed. “Sounds good.”

“Great! Talk to you tomorrow, Clint.”

“Yeah, see you, Bucky.”

They both hung up, and Clint clenched his phone in one hand, his hand over his thundering heart with the other. All he could think was _holy shit, what the hell am I doing? Natasha is going to kill me._


	3. Chapter 3

 

The day had dragged on and on, it felt like. Clint had been forced to pull a double shift when one of the morning shifters had called in sick and forced him to open. He got a few hours at noon to nap, but in the end he and Natasha were working until closing and Clint wasn’t so sure being assistant anything was such a hot shot thing to be, and he was nearly wiped out come nine o’clock and leaning against the counter trying to keep his eyes open feeling miserable over the fact that Bucky was coming soon and Clint was exhausted.

 

The worst part, perhaps, was having to read two texts from Phil. He’d wanted to just delete them, but bless smart phones and the way they just _showed_ you what they said before he even opened the damn program. They’d left him feeling sick and angry over the entire thing – and certainly in no mind set to be going to see Bucky.

 

He hardly looked up at a click of Natasha’s heels.

 

“Drink,” said Natasha, setting down a clear cup in front of him.

 

Clint blinked at it, and frowned. “What?”

 

“One of those juice things Fury wants us to start making.” Nick Fury, the rarely present, was the one who owned the coffee shop. Clint had only seen him twice, and half wondered if he’d been hallucinating at the time, although Bruce assured him no, he was very real.

 

“The green coffee bean pure caffeine beverage?” he asked.

 

“Mhm.” She leaned against the counter and gave him a sideways smirk.

 

Clint tipped it back and took the shot of it. It tasted bitter and he made a face as he smacked the plastic cup down on the countertop. “Blech. Isn’t that supposed to be flavoured?”

 

Natasha snorted, taking the plastic cup from him. “Lime, blueberry pomegranate, or raspberry,” she informed him, tossing the cup. “But that was just the juice from the green beans, and is about as strong as two shots of espresso. You’ll be lively and on your toes in no time.”

 

Clint groaned, pulling at his hair. “I stink like coffee and sweat and I’m dirty and I have no time to wash my face or do my hair or _change.”_

 

Natasha gently pat him as she came back and undid his apron strings before giving him a back rub. Clint groaned, putting his head on the cool counter and opening and shutting his hands like he was kneading.  Natasha was an angel, albeit an angel who could severely kick his ass.

 

There was a rumble from a motorcycle outside and Clint lifted his head to peer somewhat blearily at the glass. A bike, a big one, pulled up outside, and Clint was about to snark about those last minute asshole customers that just _had_ to hold up closing when he saw a very familiar form pull of a helmet and he abruptly bolted up right, his heart beating into his throat. He’d been anxious about this all day, wondering if he was making a mistake or whether or not he was cool. It seemed, though, that Bucky hadn’t looked his way yet.

 

“SCUSE!” he yelled, launching up from the counter and running for the bathroom as fast as he could go, upsetting a table near the back with two hipsters grumbling over their coffees. Clint didn’t bother apologizing and slammed the door behind him as he went for the sink.

 

His reflection was somewhat haunted and Clint took a very deep, very difficult breath as he stared at himself. Sometimes he could be cool as ice. In his few fights he’d had, or in archery competitions, hell when he’d lost his parents or when his brother had walked out, he’d been cool as a cat. But right now, for whatever reason, he felt like he was going to be sick. Very sick.

 

“It’s been months since Phil,” said Clint to his reflection. “Stark said the best way to get over someone is get under someone new. This may not be the best advice, but its advice. I need a decent distraction, and Bucky will be that. I will not fall in love with him.”

 

As if to prove it for himself he took out his cellphone, turned it on, and looked at the text’s from Phil he needed to delete but had felt too weak to do.

 

_We need to talk. - PC_

 

_Clint, please. Don’t be a child. - PC_

 

“I guess you shouldn’t have banged someone my age then,” said Clint, and he deleted them both, and the rest of the messages he had from their entire relationship catalogued on his phone. He didn’t know why he’d held onto them, because he knew better. What he and Phil had had was over and it was a good thing it was. _Can’t help but remember the good stuff, though,_ he thought.

 

Clint turned on the tap and splashed water on his face, watched it drip into the sink. His breathing slowed and he blew out a sharp breath, and jumped slightly at a knock on the door.

 

He turned. “What?” he snapped.

 

“It’s me. Shall I turn him away?” Natasha’s voice was welcome and muffled. He walked to the door and opened it a crack.

 

“It’s him?”

 

She looked amused. “Second thoughts?”

 

“I checked him out. I bet he’s a sex god. No second thoughts,” he lied, and came out of the bathroom.

 

“You’re going to fall asleep if you try,” she teased.

 

Clint rolled his eyes, ignoring her as he wandered past her towards the front of the store. He was pretty tired, but there was no way he was turning down this date. Natasha followed, her hand on his arm. She’d already given him the lecture, he’d already elected to ignore it, and so she’d simply stepped into the role of protective big sister, as she was wont to do.

 

Bucky was waiting by the counter, a big grin on his handsome face, like he knew exactly why Clint had been in the bathroom, and it made Clint’s cheeks flush up even more. He let out a slow breath and then grinned himself, burying all of his shit down deep where it belonged.

 

“Hey,” he said.

 

Bucky tossed the purple helmet in his hands over, and Clint caught it. He raised his eyebrow, staring at it, turning it in his hands and watching the way the glossy paint shined. “Hey yourself. What a manly colour.”

 

“It’s my sisters.”

 

“Give it a rest about the colour, Clint,” said Natasha, making her way behind the counter, tossing her apron aside as the last two customers disappeared. “Half your wardrobe is purple.”

 

“I’m just testing him,” Clint grumbled, wishing he could deny it. “So where are we going?”

 

“Come along little doggy, and you’ll see,” replied Bucky. “See ya,” he waved at Natasha, and turned, leaving Clint no choice but to follow.

 

Outside he got a good look at the bike and whistled. It was impressive, and completely foreign to him. What he liked was old cars, muscle cars to be exact. He could talk shop about them for hours. But when it came to motorcycles he was out in the water. All he knew this one was big and probably had a 1200cc engine. “What is that?”

 

“My baby. Her name is Marge ‘cause she’s a big tough dame. She’s not the only one I own, though. I mean, I have several,” said Bucky proudly. “A Ural named Tatiana, a Harley who is, as of yet, unnamed, and a classic Indian named Connie, but this is the one I ride most. 2009 Indian,” he said. He handed Clint his jacket and put his helmet on. “You ride?”

 

Clint shook his head as he put on the helmet and did up the snaps. It was a full face, and he flipped the visor up before pulling on the leather jacket that was a bit loose on him. He was admittedly a little worried, he’d never been on anything with only two wheels before, not even a bicycle. Bucky climbed on, looking impressive, and he hit the ignition. The bike roared to life. “Well, we’ll change that,” said Bucky. “Climb aboard, I won’t let you get hurt.”

 

Clint climbed on somewhat gingerly, but the second seat was comfortable and he was able to relax. There were hand grips available, but feeling saucy he scooted forward and put his hands on Bucky’s hips. He felt Bucky chuckle, the bike revved, and they pulled into traffic.

 

Clint had never been on a bike before and he enjoyed it immensely as they rode. The wind felt good on his face and there was a certain level of freedom. Not to mention driving through the city with darkness falling. Up on a hill, curving away from the city centre, Clint looked back to see the sky scrapers glittering with bright lights, and his face split into a wide grin.

 

“Nice, huh?” said Bucky, and if Clint hadn’t been wearing the helmet he might have kissed the back of his head.

 

He wasn’t sure where they were going so late at night. He’d already eaten a quick dinner before getting back to work and wasn’t hungry, and he wasn’t awake enough to sit through any kind of movie, but he wasn’t about to ask. He just enjoyed seeing the city landscape sweep away as they drove down a freeway. Clint merely whooped at the sweeping curves that led them to the edge of the city, and Bucky would always rev the engine in response.

 

Outside of the city Bucky stared them down a paved country rode that smelled like fall and leaves, tasted crisp and fresh in Clint’s mouth. He hugged Bucky tighter, his eyelids drooping a little as he watched the forest move past.

 

He came more awake when Bucky shifted down and pulled off the road. The second the engine was killed he clambered off, legs a little sore but feeling good about things none-the-less, and pulled off the helmet for a deep breath of air. The sound of rushing water was nearby and Clint craned his neck back to see the way his breath misted just a little and the stars twinkled in the millions. “So this is the hot date?”

 

“It will be,” said Bucky. There was a clatter and Clint looked over in time to see Bucky take two bombers of some microbrew from his saddlebags and a bag of pretzels.

 

“You’re trying to seduce me,” Clint accused, as Bucky took a bottle opener from his key ring and popped both caps.

 

“Maybe,” said Bucky, who grinned, “but when I really try to seduce you you’ll know. C’mon, this way.”

 

Clint followed him. The place they’d parked was a small turn out, and after a short walk through the woods they came across a small river that was swift flowing and dark. The bridge that used to span it was old and boarded off, but Bucky got up on the cement side and started walking down with practiced ease. Clint thought for a moment of protesting, but remembered Phil would never have taken him somewhere like this and it made him grin and hop up behind him, following Bucky down the cement rail. When Bucky sat down he did too, tapping his feet against the side of the bridge. He took a sip of the beer, which was creamy and smooth.

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the sounds of the road mostly erased by the trees and the constant gurgling flow of the river below them. Clint took a few more swigs of his beer before giving his date a sidelong look. “So, what’s out here that’s so awesome?”

 

Bucky grinned, then pointed. “Check it out.”

 

Clint followed the line of his hand and craned his neck back to look in the sky. A gust of wind blew, making him shiver, just as a streak of white crossed his vision. Clint sat up straighter, focusing, as another and another followed, dotting across the sky. His jaw fell open as he watched the meteors dot the sky. As his eyes adjusted more and more to the light everything came into amazing clarity. Clint jumped when one even seemed to make a sound, although he wasn’t sure if it was in his own mind or not.

 

“Wow,” he said, and laughed.

 

“It skipped off our atmosphere,” said Bucky. “Cool, huh? I had a buddy in the army who loved this shit. Got me hooked too.”

 

Clint wondered where to go with it all. Had either implied a falling out or, what might be more likely, a death. He decided to go with a safer follow up question. “So were you overseas?”

 

“Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th,” he said, and smiled. “I did a few tours, Afghanistan, Iraq.”

 

Clint had never been totally sure how he felt about the war. He wanted to support the troops, even if he didn’t believe in the people who had caused the war. He took another sip, wondering what the right question was, but Bucky continued for him which was something of a relief.

 

“I ended up coming too close to a landmine that popped and buggered up my left arm.” He held it out and flexed it. “I can still use it, but they had to remove a bit of muscle, so I can’t get cleared for active duty anymore.”

 

“So what did you decide to do, then?” asked Clint. “Other than fix bikes?”

 

“Cars in general, really. I’m a mechanic now.” Bucky clipped his boot against the cement, finished his beer, and set it aside. “Well, that’s my sob story. None of this ‘I’m sorry’ bullshit if you please. What about you? What’s a sexy piece of ass doing slaving away behind a coffee shop counter? You a student?”

 

Clint shook his head, blushing a bit from the compliment. “I tried that. I didn’t see the point in working myself until I had a mental break down so I dropped out.” He took another long pull of his beer, trying to catch up. He sort of wished it was something stronger, but he’d make due. He was enjoying himself more this way than some date at a restaurant anyway.

 

“What did you take?”

 

“Architecture,” said Clint.

 

“Jesus. Got myself a brainiac here.”

 

“Drop out, remember?” said Clint. He shifted closer until he was in the curl of Bucky’s arm. “I’m also waiting on finding out why you’re so _bad._ You seemed to insist I’d find out you were trouble tonight.”

 

Bucky’s teeth glittered in the darkness a moment before his lips pressed against Clint’s. Clint closed his eyes, leaning into it. Bucky smelled good, like leather and oranges with the barest hint of WD-40, a scent Clint had always sort of loved. Bucky’s hand came up to cup the back of Clint’s head as the kiss got deeper. Clint tasted beer and salt, loved the feeling of stubble, and sighed a bit into it just before Bucky pulled away.

 

Bucky looked pleased with himself. “Not bad.” Clint responded by shoving his shoulder, and Bucky laughed. “Easy, lover boy. If I’m going into the drink I’m taking you down with me.”

 

That gave Clint an idea. It was something Clint wouldn’t have considered with Phil. To be honest, Clint had wondered sometimes if Phil was more like a surrogate dad, or Clint playing pretend when he was dating him. It was all sedate dates, going to plays and shit. Clint had liked it, mostly because he knew sex was coming in the end, but now he had an opportunity to act like a stupid little shit and he wasn’t going to wait.

 

Even though it was September it wasn’t as cold as it normally would be. Clint hopped up and headed back down the bridge for the narrow path that looped down to the water. With his eyes so well adjusted he could pick it out easily and started down it.

 

“Hey barista, what the hell?”

 

Clint didn’t reply, and he heard Bucky’s boots crunching behind him just as he took off the leather jacket. He turned and shot a grin at Bucky, who merely grinned back and worked at his leather belt.

 

Clint swore softly as the cold water hit his feet. It was pretty fucking cold, and it made Bucky laugh. “You know, kind of hard to fool around when the water makes your dick beat a fast retreat.”

 

“Maybe I want you to work for it a little more,” said Clint, wading out further. He wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted on that front.

 

There was a splash and Bucky was following. “You got my number with a _sign.”_

 

Clint shrugged. “And that means I’m going to just put out to every asshole with a Harley that bats his pretty blue eyes?”

 

“Touché,” said Bucky, sounding amused. Clint yelped as the cold water hit his boxers and _yes_ he was going to fucking freeze, this was a both a shit idea and an amazing one, but then he was being turned around by a hand on his arm. “To be fair, though, we drove here on an Indian.”

 

“Mmm,” said Clint, not caring in the slightest, as he stepped back into cooler water, and pulled Bucky down and into a long kiss. Hell, he was supposed to be giving, but the way Bucky sucked on his lower lip and the way his hand pulled on the small of Clint’s back had him panting, even if the cold was putting a damper on his body’s reactions.

 

“Damn, boy,” said Bucky when they both broke away for breath, skin goose-fleshed and breath coming in fast. “We’ve only kissed twice and I’m already positive you’re going to drive me insane.”

 

Clint liked this, liked it a lot. He kissed Bucky again and pulled back, swiping his hand through the frigid water and grinning hugely when Bucky’s longish hair plastered to his forehead from the splash. “So I don’t work day after tomorrow,” he said, backing up, as Bucky let out a growl and started coming for him. 

Clint saw a dunking in his future, just as Bucky put one wide hand on his head, and said, “you got it, babe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY IF ANYONE WANTED SKINNY DIPPING SEX BUT CLINT MADE ME DO IT


	4. Chapter 4

While swimming in a river in September had been fun it had also garnered some unfortunate consequences. Namely, one hell of a cold that had ended up forcing Clint to call in sick while he had visions of jumping cow’s named Hugo and polka-dotted lions that told bad puns as fever dreams assaulted him for the better part of two days, and his recovery extended to most of a week. Of course, a good consequence was Bucky texting him with worry, even going so far to delivering a flat of Cup-O-Ramen’s to the door while Clint puked his guts out, thankful Bucky was busy heading to work and had no time to see him at his less than graceful point.

When he returned, armed with Purell and nitrile gloves and a face mask, Bruce, vacation interrupted, politely informed him that he wasn’t allowed to do stupid ass things again, namely swimming with a compromised immune system from a hard day, and that he was going to torture their boss in order to hire more help. Clint was okay with this, and meekly accepted his post in the back as Bagel Maker in Chief, mostly shaky and praising how the dough hook did the work for him as he breathed through his face mask, stoned on cold medication and Advil.

“One day,” said Bruce, surveying Clint’s work as he made bagels, “you’ll be a good baker.”

“Like you?” asked Clint, voice a touch muffled. _“You are my senpai, my only senpai, you make me happy when school is duuuull! You never notice, how much I love you so please don’t take my senpai awayyyy!”_

Bruce snorted with laughter, eyes dancing. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. By the way,” he said, “your boy-thing came in every day, hoping you were alive.”

Clint perked at this. He wasn’t sure if he and Bucky qualified as boyfriends but _thing_ had a ring to it that would make them both grin evilly. He might, if he wasn’t so tired. Clint tossed a scoop of pumpkin into the dough, because America’s obsession with pumpkin had crossed into _Coffee Grounds._ “Oh?”

“Yeah. Bitched about the lack of Mexican coffee, ordered the Filipino blend, and I told him I’d get Fury to bring in some new roasts. Then asked about you and got all goo-goo eyed, so I told him to take you soup. Did he?”

Clint nodded, sort of wishing he’d been more important than the coffee, but he had a feeling Bucky would be anxious to ask after him. After all, they were supposed to be a fling until Clint got the bright idea to make him work for it. Clint sort of wished they’d fucked already, it would have made the last few days a lot more bearable. “Yeah, a flat of ramen.”

Bruce chuckled. “How romantic. That’s practically a proposal in Uni.”

Clint made a face. “Sorry that your vacation got all messed up.”

“Sorry you’ve got a cotton mask over your oozing nose.” There was a ding from up front, and Bruce turned to leave. “Don’t drip in the dough, please.”

 _“Don’t drip in the dough please,”_ Clint mimicked, rolling his eyes, as he started forming them, constantly dipping his gloves in water to keep the dough from sticking. “My nose isn’t running, asshole.” He had no idea how he and Bruce managed to be friends, but they did.

“Wow, mimicry _and_ a swear. How sixth grade.”

Clint ripped a piece of dough out of the mass in the machine and threw it at Bruce’s head, who ducked and laughed, disappearing out front. He and Bruce had met when Clint had started in University. He’d been the one kind sophomore hipster who had helped Clint find the building for an important lecture, and had offered to give Clint a hand finding a few other places, and was able to help Clint with his maths. Despite all the snarking, or perhaps because of it, they’d struck up a solid friendship like he and Natasha had. Now they were extremely close, and Clint couldn’t imagine managing not to move back home to his brother’s without having Bruce around.

Bruce returned a moment later looking solemn. “Phil’s here. I’m pretty sure he knows _you’re_ here, but I can chase him off if you want.”

Clint sighed. “Nah, he cornered me.” He shucked off his gloves, mask, and hairnet. “Mind finishing this?”

Bruce whisked to his side, brown eyes bright and concerned behind his glasses. It was moments that he looked like that, that Clint knew why everyone liked him so much. Even if Bruce was as messed up as Clint was, and on too many medications to boot, Bruce was nothing if not centered when it came to these sorts of things. “If you need to go home after this, it’s cool. It’ll give me more leverage with Fury.”

Clint grinned. “Don’t worry about me, mom.”

“I can’t help it, dear.”

Clint paused by the door, taking deep breaths. At least this was a low point, and there shouldn’t be many customers for at least forty minutes. He felt anxiety eating at his stomach closed his eyes. He wasn’t like others who needed meds, but Clint wished for something to calm his stomach. Right now it felt like it was doing a rehearsal without him.

After a moment he stepped out. Phil was standing by the front counter, looking as clean and pressed as usual. It made Clint feel a small pang to see him there like nothing had happened. He stepped up to the counter, wishing a customer was there to help before him, but he’d probably ruin their drink, whoever they were.

“Hi,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Phil didn’t reply, but his eyes swept Clint’s body in that calculating way he had, analyzing him like Sherlock Holmes might, deducing everything about his appearance. Clint hated it, he felt like he was being X-rayed, and in a way he sort of was. Phil was in private security, he could tell a million things from an appearance, from whether or not they were packing, to if they had a weak point. “You’re sick. What are you doing at work if you’re sick, Clinton?”

The worst part of the question was the colouring of concern, the softness in his eyes that once upon a time would have melted Clint’s heart. However, instead of melting, he bristled. To him this was punishment. “I’m fine, I’m a big boy. So what do you want? I gave you all your stuff, one shirt, two CD’s and all five books you loaned me.” Phil had never stayed over at Clint’s place, citing unspecific reasons that probably had a lot to do with Thor and his friends.

“I want to talk.”

“Well I don’t.”

_“Clint.”_

Clint sighed. He knew he was being childish, but after all, wasn’t that what Phil had accused him of? “So? Talk.”

“Not here.”

“I’m working. Obviously. And I can’t just leave.”

Phil stared at him a moment. “Fine, over there, then.”

Moving stiffly, Clint followed him to a table in the far corner, and he sat down, sitting halfway on his chair like he was ready to bolt. Phil sat down and regarded him with that amused sort of glint in his eyes that had hinted at the humour that had made Clint fall for him. There was no denying that Phil was a silly man, capable of both romance and fun, but it wasn’t what Clint had ever needed. This might have all worked out even, had Phil not needed certain things, required what Clint wasn’t able to give.

Clint was doing his best to hold on to the fact that Bruce was now moving behind the front counter. He could feel Bruce’s look on the back of his head, even. He kept seeing their fights, seeing how Clint had gone from someone to realizing that the man he was in love with wasn’t in love back, and that everything had really been more of a joke than anything truly serious. “What is it?”

“I just want to stop this fighting. I mean, it doesn’t have to-“

“Yes, it _does._ ” Clint was adamant about it. “Phil. You weren’t – you were treating me like a child. We want different things.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong in wanting to better yourself before moving in together.”

Clint huffed. “In other words, you don’t see what’s wrong with making sure I grow up before I move in with you. I get it. You aren’t happy with me, alright? We’re cool together, but I’m too young. I’m what – a tight fuck?” He heard the bell ring over the door but didn’t look, getting on a roll. “You didn’t want me to move in until I had a better job, even if I could cover rent with this one. You get embarrassed by the things that represent my age. You don’t want me to explore things people my age would do. You don’t – you don’t _want me._ You want someone else.”

Phil was staring at him with that usual patient exasperation, like a parent waiting for their child to blow out of steam, and it just made Clint angrier. He was about to open his mouth to go on when he heard a familiar voice that made his stomach sink.

“Everything alright, Clint?”

Clint swallowed hard, watching the way Phil’s eyes appraised the man behind him, as a hand settled on his shoulder. He honestly wondered who would win in a fight – his private security firm ex, or his veteran… whatever he was. Phil looked somewhat confused, regardless. Bucky might be only 25, a few years older, but whatever he’d done in the war had roughed him up.

“Not really,” said Clint. He took a breath. “Phil, meet Bucky my new, um-“

“-boyfriend. And you must be the ex I haven’t really heard of. James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky.” He reached out, and Clint dared to look up. Bucky’s eyes were hard and flat, and when Phil shook his hand he winced. Clint started to favour Bucky in the fight department. Clint could hear Steve ordering, but he sounded distracted, like he too was waiting for a fight to start.

“So you’re seeing someone else,” said Phil, rising. Clint knew a background search was imminent and if _that_ wasn’t severely creepy and unusual…

“I am. And I have to work, Phil.” Clint got up, feeling Bucky’s hand rising with him, and he kicked his chair back under the table. He didn’t bother saying good-bye as he headed for the counter, feeling his hands shake and his breath come a touch roughly. The door rang once more, Clint looked, and Phil’s form disappeared down the street.

“So what the hell was that?”

“Talking.”

Bruce finished making whatever it was Steve had ordered. “Need to go home?”

Clint thought about it. He still had cash saved up from his old scholarships he refused to use for school now, and didn’t really use for anything other than ‘emergency don’t move back to Iowa’ funds. He’d make rent this month with them, and probably feel better for it.

Bucky’s hand caressed Clint’s arm. “I can take you. Or you can hang out with Steve and I. Day off. You promised our second date, Barton.”

“Chilling with the friends. Yeah, alright.” Clint took off his apron. “Thanks, Bruce. Will you be okay?”

“Pepper’s in in an hour, we’re cool.”

“Thanks.”

It was a touch surreal, having Bucky be protective over him over one date. Clint might be worried, if it weren’t for the fact it was sort of nice to have someone give two shits without running background checks and general stalker behavior because of access to the police database. He followed them outside to where an old beater was parked, a rusted out purple Plymouth Neon, and Clint had to smile when the door squeaked and Bucky grumbled in annoyance as he got inside.

“So I’m Steve Rogers,” said the little guy, still looking like his body was about to attempt to grow way too much for his age. He held out his hand, and Clint shook it, being a bit ginger with him. “I’m usually what stands between Bucky and a dangerous fight or fuck-up.”

“Just get in the car,” said Bucky, the door squeaking louder as Bucky snapped it shut.

Steve grinned a touch apologetically at Clint, and Clint got inside. The interior was clean and smelled good, looking nothing like the exterior suggested. He settled in and looked at the back of Bucky’s head. “Hope you guys don’t mind I smell like bagels.”

“Nah, makes you tasty,” said Bucky, waggling his eyebrows. “Steve, man, it’s new car time.”

“Stop treating Diana this way, she’s fine.” Steve looked patient, like they had this argument every day. Steve turned and gave Clint a worried look. “Despite appearances, Bucky is no creep. So what is it about clean pressed and spooky that went down wrong? Or do you even want to talk about it?”

“Clean pressed and spooky wants more than I can give, end of story,” said Clint, not really wanting to go there. “Phil seems to be under the impression that my youth is a hazard and I need to be better to move in. That’s all.”

Bucky grunted in annoyance. “Well, for the record, I’m unimpressed and he can go fuck himself.”

“Buck!”

Bucky grinned.

Clint felt better already as he laughed, watching the streets of Portland move by. “Thanks. So where are we heading?”

“Mine and Steve’s pad. Maybe you can pose for Steve like one of his French girls.”

“I think that’s more for your benefit than Steve’s,” said Clint, looking over at Steve. “You draw?”

Steve shrugged, blushing and trying to look modest. “A little.”

“A _lot._ Kid’s motherfucking Picasso.”

“I’m not Picasso, I don’t do Cubism. I do paint, mostly water colours, and use coloured pencils and charcoal as well as pencil mediums. I specialize all around.” Steve was blushing very hard, and took a sip of whatever spicy thing he was drinking.

“Cos I know what Cubism is,” said Bucky. “Kid can paint, and draw, and everything.”

“I’m not a kid,” said Steve patiently. “I’m older than you.”

Clint’s eyebrows raised. “How old _are_ you?”

“Twenty-five. This punk over here is actually twenty-three.”

“You’re a kid,” Bucky chirped.

Clint heard someone’s phone buzz as he looked out the window, and a moment later there was a click and Steve sighed. “Okay, I guess I have to go help out at the school. Can you take me to the usual spot? I can bus home.”

Bucky nodded, putting on the signal light. “That girl disappear again?”

“Yeah, I gotta pick up the slack.”

“Glad I never got into academia. Grad school sounds like the shits.”

After Steve was dropped off at the arts building in Portland University downtown they started back across the river on the freeway. Clint sat shotgun, watching the roads move by under the overcast sky that seemed on the edge of rain, a perpetual Portland threat. He smiled to himself as Bucky’s big warm hand wrapped around his, thumb moving in circles. The gesture seemed very intimate, and initially unlike Bucky, but it seemed Clint had to learn more about him.

Their apartment was over the river in a neat little neighborhood by Belmont over a dry cleaners. Clint looked around, standing awkwardly in the living room. The place was obviously designed by Steve, he highly doubted Bucky had any kind of interior flair. He seemed much more the handyman type, and was betting he’d painted and renovated while Steve had been out because of his asthma. The place was painted with bright colours that matched, blending easily into each other along with the eclectic furniture and the bits of sculpture dotting the shelves.

Music played from a docking station, a little blue iPod playing Red Hot Chilli Peppers. A jet black cat sat nearby it, blinking green and unimpressed eyes, who deigned to come when Clint offered his hand, merely giving two perfunctory sniffs before setting its head down in denial.

Bucky came up behind Clint, and his hand was on Clint’s back, making him shiver. Clint turned to look, saw the beers in Bucky’s hand. “Drown the cold,” he instructed, and Clint laughed.

Clint took it, allowed himself to be steered onto the couch. It was comfortable, though it squeaked, and he tucked himself into Bucky’s side when prompted. In good light Clint could see the scar tissue on Bucky’s left arm, twisting up the side where the muscle would have to be removed. A star, white with a splash of red watercolours around it, was tattooed on his muscular shoulder. He averted his eyes, and Bucky chuckled a little, taking a sip, and nudged his shoulder to make a throw blanket fall over his arm.

“So is your ex always that stiff?” asked Bucky.

“Mostly,” said Clint. The beer was a good microbrew, more wheat than hops, which suited him fine. He sipped it a few times, tiny ones, getting a taste for it. “He’s in private security, used to be in the FBI.”

“So I’m getting background checked.”

Clint winced. “Maybe.”

Bucky didn’t reply at once, just drank. “So why’d you ditch him? I’m assuming you ditched him. He’s chasing you and you hate him.”

Clint sighed, wondering if he was ready for this kind of conversation at all. He wasn’t, truth be told. Feelings were fickle and stupid, and he didn’t like thinking of Phil whatsoever, especially not now, not in Bucky’s arms when they could be kissing and touching. “I ditched him. He was more like a dad than a boyfriend, and I found out that age differences don’t mix in practical situations nine times out of ten.”

He set his beer down, turning. He didn’t want to talk, because talking was hard, and he swallowed hard to look at Bucky. The perfect cupid’s bow of his lips, the deep blue of his eyes like deep water, made Clint lean in and kiss him.

Bucky kissed back a moment, his hand running across the side of Clint’s face, fingers cool, laced with the perspiration from a beer bottle, and Clint moaned a little from the sensation.

“Are you over him?” asked Bucky, his lips moving slow against Clint’s, and while this normally might have been a mood killer, it made Clint just kiss him harder.

“So over, so done, completely done,” said Clint. Bucky’s tongue was in his mouth then, his long brown hair tickling the side of Clint’s face as muscular arms enfolded around him, pulling him onto Bucky’s lap. Clint grabbed Bucky’s hand, pressing it against his groin. He rocked his hips, humming in his throat while Bucky gasped, his hand squeezing, coaxing Clint to get even harder. “That’s how done I am.”

“Fuck yes,” said Bucky. “You’re a match made in heaven, Jesus.”

Clint straddled him, getting to know his kisses properly now. They were warm and secure, Steve would be away for a while, and this was exactly what Clint needed to forget. Kissing, maybe more. He imagined what could be waiting for him when he unzipped Bucky’s jeans and rolled his hips, pressing against Bucky’s erection, and wanted to wrap his lips around him, taste him. Clint liked sucking cock, he was good at it, and wanted to make Bucky pant and gasp and writhe.

Clint sucked at Bucky’s lower lip, his tongue teasing the teased flesh as his hands dragged down Bucky’s chest, curling his fingers to drag against him and Bucky pulled away, his lip escaping with a drag, red and stretched as he smiled, before pressing it against Clint’s neck, his hands reaching own to pull at Clint’s ass.

Clint’s fingers found the button of Bucky’s jeans, working at the fly. Bucky squeezed him tighter in response, and helped Clint work his pants down. Clint kissed his chest as he slipped from Bucky’s lap to kneeling on the floor, smirking as his cock bounced up.

“Nice,” said Clint. Bucky was above average, uncut. Clint teased his fingers over the loose skin, rubbing it up and down a few times, feeling it roll over the hard flesh beneath as Bucky gasped and squirmed. “You clean?”

Bucky nodded. “Get myself checked regularly.”

“Good.” It might be irresponsible, but he leaned in and licked at the head of his cock anyway. He couldn’t help but trust in Bucky as his tongue conformed to him before he sucked down, head bobbing up and down as Bucky groaned.

Clint sucked hard, his tongue moving fast. He moaned as Bucky’s fingers laced in Clint’s hair, tugging a little. The taste of precome mixed with the salt taste of skin, and Clint’s jaw ached a little, since he was out of practice. He pulled back, eyes meeting Bucky’s, who panted in response, his eyes locked on every movement Clint made, like in a trance. He was enthralled, and shit if that didn’t make a bolt of lust head straight down to Clint’s cock, making it throb in his pants, stretched tight.

Clint liked this, a second not-quite-date, getting his knees dirty as he sucked faster, wanting to encourage Bucky to come, his hands stroking down the base of his shaft before moving to play with Bucky’s balls, stroke at his perineum. He loved how Bucky moaned, how he tasted, and the way he came with shuddering gasps, his voice going a touch high at the end in a needy sound that made Clint moan too as he swallowed, trying not to wince. He pulled off, took a swig of his beer, and grinned.

“Jesus, Barton.” Clint batted his eyes, and laughed as Bucky yanked him up by his shoulders before both hands went to his waist. “I am being tortured by a hipster kid in skinny jeans, one who will be the death of me.”

Clint moaned as he was turned and pressed against the couch, and his jeans were yanked down. “Not a hipster,” he protested, hips raising as he threaded his fingers through Bucky’s long hair. “Don’t own a single douchey knit cap, scarf or pair of fake glasses.”

“You’re also fucking snarky, I love it.” Clint watched as Bucky took a long drink of his beer, grinned, then licked at the head of his cock with a cold tongue.

Clint squirmed, panting. “Wow, fuck,” he said, as Bucky’s cold tongue traced the veins in his cock. Whenever his tongue got warm again he’d simply take another drink of his beer, and when his cold mouth enveloped Clint’s cock making him moan, his hips thrusting up, he scratched at the nape of Bucky’s neck.

“You’re twisted too,” Clint insisted. “Torturer of the worst kind.”

“Mmm.”

It had been so long since proper sex that between Bucky’s extremely skilled mouth, the way it bobbed fast, sucked hard, taking him deep and still being so cold and slowly warming, made Clint come way too soon. He tugged on his hair in warning, but Bucky merely sucked harder and Clint’s head fell back, soft against the cushion as he stared at an unfamiliar ceiling, his hips coming up again as he came in Bucky’s mouth, muscles bunched in his legs against Bucky’s squeezing fingers, imagining what it would be like when Bucky’s cock pushed inside of him, legs around his hips.

Bucky pulled off slow, making Clint’s sensitive cock ache and his body convulse. He watched as Bucky finished Clint’s beer, and he grinned like he knew a secret. Like maybe he knew that all Clint could think was how this was a salvaged day, how this made it from something terrible to sweet, and he pulled Bucky down, his hands squeezing at his hips, the other wound in his hair, as he tasted alcohol and salt and his own taste in Bucky’s mouth as they kissed.

Maybe it was wrong, avoiding talk of feelings and pasts with sex, but Clint could hardly give two shits.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agh are you still with me? XD sorry for taking so long

Clint woke up to the sound of a beeping phone, alerting of a text message. At first he wasn’t sure where he was, just that it was a living room, the wall opposite was brick and the couch he was on was very comfortable and very red. He found his phone near his ear and stared at it, trying to figure out why Bruce was demanding to know where he was, which lead him back to the couch –

“Afternoon, sunshine,” said a voice as a shadow fell over him, and Clint jumped a bit, blinking heavily. He did feel like he’d slept too long, very much like an unexpected afternoon nap.

He focused on Bucky, who was now leaning over the back of the couch, and smiled, rubbing at his eyes. “Um. Hi. I kinda passed out, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you kinda did. I guess a blow job was a bit much after your cold. Which begs the question of why I let you do that, but to be fair you give great head.”

“Thanks,” said Clint, and he frowned. “I think.” He sat up, yawning, feeling surprisingly good, and sent a text to Bruce assuring him not to worry. His cold meds had worn off and instead of feeling completely shitty it seemed that the last of it had passed.

Bucky was doing something behind him so Clint rolled, yawning all the while, to peer over the couch. Bucky was folding laundry and Clint watched, wondering what sorts of clothes he wore. Band shirts were a common theme, it seemed, along with plain T-shirts and jeans. He folded everything tight and military which was little surprise to Clint. He realized he still knew next to nothing about him and tilted his head.

“So how long were you in the military?” he asked, watching Bucky put his clothes carefully back into the basket, now nicely folded.

“Ahh, since birth?” Bucky grinned. “Old army family. My dad was a captain based at Camp Lehigh so I was always around military types. Even trained with em as a teenager, so when I joined up it was no surprise.” He looked troubled after a moment, setting the last piece of clothing in the basket. “Alright if we don’t talk about it?”

“Sure,” said Clint, curious about it.

Bucky left and Clint hopped up further on the couch, sweeping the surroundings again. He spotted a large photo of a man with an obviously younger Bucky, still all confidence and swagger it seemed, and whom even had the constant black eye. _The girl must be his sister,_ he thought, looking at the protective arm around her. Bucky was the spitting image of his dad, who was grinning in the exact same way, arm around both kids. There was no mother in the picture.

_I wonder if maybe she was taking it,_ he thought, getting up from the couch, moving slowly from picture to picture, trying to piece together what he could see from both Steve and Bucky. There wasn’t much in the way of evidence, though.

There was the sound of a door and Clint backed up from the shelf to see Steve walk in looking tired and holding a cup from _Coffee Grounds_ and a white bag of probably bagels or pastries. Clint recognized Natasha’s writing on the side of the cup.

“You addicted to our chai latte’s?” he asked.

Steve smiled. “A bit. This is a spiced coffee latte, by the way.” Steve took a sip, sitting at the table. “Miss Romanoff recommended it.”

“Ohoho, you are polite. _Miss Romanoff._ I’m going to have to call her that tomorrow.” Clint wandered over, wondering just how rude it would be to steal fruit from the bowl. “Rich boy, able to buy two coffee’s a day.”

Steve’s ears turned red and he didn’t look at Clint. “You’d be more sympathetic if you had to teach freshmen how to use a pottery wheel when it’s not even your field,” muttered Steve. “This girl’s speciality is in sculpture and pottery, but somehow emergencies keep happening and I’m the only idiot willing to volunteer.”

Clint pat him on the shoulder and sat down. Steve snorted, pushed the white bag towards him. “I guess you get tired of these but there’s not much in the way of food in the place. Have a scone.”

Clint helped himself. Natasha’s baking, easily. Cinnamon and nectarine scone. Clint moaned as he bit into it. “Never tired of this.”

Bucky came back into the room wearing fresh clothes, longish hair tied back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Clint swallowed a bite of the scone and his eyes flickered up and down his body quick, more than a little attracted. _How the hell did I manage to score his number?_

“STEBE!” he said, then clapped the little guy on the back. “I’m thirsty.”

“So get a drink,” said Steve, watching Bucky rummage in the paper bag.

“Nah. I’m _thirsty._ You know what this means.”

“I’m not sure I can do this today, Buck.”

Clint wondered what the argument was over. He was going to ask when his phone buzzed again, this time with a phone call. He excused himself with an unheard word and disappeared into the front hall, checking his call ID. It was Bruce, thankfully, and not Phil with some dirt to dish on Bucky. He didn’t expect _that_ phone call for a few more days at least.

“Hey,” he said, “need me to come back or something?”

“Just ensuring you’re alive and not being turned into a meat puppet,” said Bruce innocently. “Actually, a bunch of people from Tasha’s criminology classes are throwing a party and we thought you and your new friends might want to come.”

Clint had partied with those guys before, they were pretty good. “Sure, why not. Text me where it’s at. BYOB?”

“Tony’s got that covered.”

“Well at least your smart-ass boy toy is good for something.”

“He’s not a boy toy.”

“Bruce, you’re like thirty and he’s eighteen. He’s your boy toy.”

“Fuck you, I’m twenty-six. See you at eight.”

“See ya, Granddad.”

Clint hung up, knowing he was going to get several sarcastic messages and a week of bathroom duty but he’d take it. Bucky was pouting when he got back to the kitchen.

“Cliiiint, Steve doesn’t want to go drinking. Help me convince him.”

“Steve, there’s a party going down tonight and we’re invited. _Miss Romanoff_ will be there,” Clint grinned, and Bucky looked a touch gleeful.

“Oh Steve, do you have a crush on the Red Headed Coffee Goddess?” asked Bucky, leaning into Steve’s personal space. “Do you want to kiss her? Do you want to do Unspeakable Things? Are you planning to seduce her with your sketchbook?”

Clint tilted his head, helping himself to another scone. “Steve seduces girls with sketchbooks?”

Bucky nodded, looking somewhere between annoyed and proud. “Yeah, all he has to do is go up to a girl, ask her to pose for him, tell her something like ‘it’s really nice for you to let me practice drawing such beautiful eyes’ or whatever and after that she’s putty in his capable hands.”

It was hard to imagine Steve, who was all elbows, having girls be putty in his hands but Clint figured everyone had hidden depths and really, Steve seemed to be an all-around great guy with the misfortune of being so small. “We’ll just have to see if Tasha is one of these women or not,” said Clint, and Steve just blushed, muttering something about going because they needed a driver.

++

Clint watched the pool table, eyes on the prize. Bucky had told him he was a veritable pool shark, bragging over his skills, and Clint had merely given him a toothy grin and told him loser paid for the next date, whenever that happened to be.

The party was in full swing. A good, mixed crowd had shown up, with the added bonus of only a few frat boys hanging around, and they were behaving themselves. The tunes were good, the people were good, and best of all Tony Stark had bought a lot of beer, one of Clint’s favourite micro brew’s. Clint felt good about the party, and the way Bucky was looking at him, appreciating him. They were just two twenty-something idiot’s enjoying themselves, after all. This was something he wouldn’t have had with Phil, he would have been alone here, and with Bucky he didn’t have to be.

 “You aren’t going to make that shot, Barton,” said Bucky.

“Oh yes I am,” he said, leaning over the table. He jumped a bit when Bucky’s hand found its way down his back pocket. He looked back over his shoulder. “Excuse me, but I think that’s against the rules, setting me up.”

“Show me where it says in the official rules a guy can’t grope his opponent and I’ll stop.”

“Asshole.” Said affectionately.

“Punk.” With equal affection.

Clint snapped the pool cue forward, the cue ball hit the eight ball, and Clint sat back, watching the chemical reaction. In a flurry the balls were moving, clacking against each other and the sides. _One, two…_ the eight ball poised on the edge of the pocket… _three._ He grinned as it fell. “Sorry, Buck. Shouldn’t have challenged me.”

Bucky grumbled and went to get the rack, saying something about being played. “And you say you aren’t a genius.”

“I’m actually shit at math. I can do angles though,” said Clint. “Also, I’m in archery.” He picked up his beer, toasting him. “To the loser with the nice ass,” he said, and finished it.

Bucky drank in the toast, then winked at him. “To the winner who’ll have a sore ass later.”

“If you play your cards right,” said Clint.

A few frat boys approached and Clint wondered if they had a problem with gay people. He was tensing, ready for that particular fight, when they challenged him to a game of pool. One of them, so they said, was big into math.

“Fifty bucks?” asked Clint, chalking his cue.

“You’re on,” said the other.

Clint had the game won in ten moves, and was happy to accept a repeat challenge, double or nothing. Of course, double meant trouble paying his rent check but he was confident and was happily smiling at the grumpy look of the frat boy challenging him as he took another sip of beer.

“Do it again in ten rounds,” challenged the boy, and Clint shrugged, a touch worried but feeling confident he could use their skills against them again.

Bucky was hooting as the eight ball sunk into the pocket on the ninth round, proclaiming Clint the victor. He held out his hand, wondering what he was going to spend his hundred dollars on, when he met the angry face of the frat boy.

“Pay up,” said Clint, smiling at him and holding out his hand.

“I don’t think so,” said the boy, snorting.

“Yeah? And why not?” asked Clint, his smile turning into a threatening frown. “I beat you, and you know I didn’t cheat. So, pay up.”

“I said ten rounds, not ten rounds or less,” said the other, looking smug. “Sorry, man, I’m not paying you. You didn’t follow the rules.”

“You son of a-“

Bucky pushed past him then, much to Clint’s chagrin, and got into the other’s face. He looked dangerous and imposing, and he had his muscles flexed and straining against his shirt as he leaned over the other guy. “Excuse you. I believe you owe him some money, you lying fuck. So pay him and fuck right off.”

Clint bristled. He hadn’t asked for Bucky’s intervention, hadn’t asked to be protected. This was _just like_ with Phil all over again. People just _assumed_ he couldn’t fight or protect himself. Just for once he’d like someone to give him the benefit of the doubt instead of assuming he was defenseless.

“Look,” Clint tried to elbow past Bucky, shooting him a glare, “I won the game fair and square. It’s not my fault you’re a bunch of sore losers.”

“Get out of my face,” they said, shoving Clint back, “I ain’t paying you. The only sore loser here is _you._ ”

_Oh._ Clint was about to break the pool cue over his head when Bucky came around and cold clocked the guy. It wasn’t long after that that everything descended into veritable chaos. Bucky, it seemed, was a skilled bar fighter, and attempted to take on all three at once, defending with his weaker left and lashing out hard with his right. Clint squared off with the third when he noticed the guy lifting a cue to hit Bucky and earned a fist to the cheek. Bucky might have put paid to both the assholes he was fighting before Natasha, Steve, and Bruce along with a few other guys came over and pulled them all apart.

“You really want the cops called?” Bruce growled, glaring at Clint.

“Wouldn’t be a problem if the asshole had just _paid me,”_ said Clint, annoyed.

Bucky himself was grinning, blood dripping from a cut on his lip, and Clint felt his cheek stinging and swelling already. Bucky was flexing, shaking off the hands holding him. “Just a good natured fight. C’mon, you might as well let us finish.” He stared at the guy who pushed Clint. “You and that big ox almost count as _one.”_

“Buck.” Steve’s tone was cold.

The frat boys departed with a few mutinous mutters and Bucky turned, looking smug. “Right, yeah, sorry Steve.” He glanced at Clint. “You alright?”

“Fine,” said Clint coldly, turning away. He was heading for his coat, the party soured.

“Clint, you okay?” asked Bruce. “Fine, fine, just going home,” said Clint, turning to give Bucky a look. “I’m tired and I’m done.”

“Be safe,” said Bruce. “I’ll text you.”

Clint pushed away and into the crowd, looking for where he’d left his coat. The place was too packed now, the music felt too loud. He could smell pot and beer and cigarettes and hear _everything_ and he was just done, wanted to leave and get out, find somewhere he could breathe and maybe punch a wall. It made him run up the stairs all the faster.

“Hey – _hey!”_ Bucky was following him up the stairs and Clint shook off his hand in the upper hall. He gave Bucky a dark look. “Whaddya looking at me like that for? He pushed you, and I wasn’t about to-“

“That’s the point,” said Clint, whirling on him. “Who said I needed saving?”

Bucky’s look of confusion turned into anger. “I never said you did, but I wasn’t going to just _let_ him-“

“And neither was I!” snapped Clint. “I wasn’t just going to let him walk away or push me. No, you assumed I couldn’t help myself. It’s exactly like with Phil, all over again. People just fucking _assume_ shit about me. What, do I give off some kind of ‘helpless vibe’ that people like to take advantage of or what?”

“I’m not like that guy,” said Bucky.

“The hell you’re not. Just another guy who thinks I can’t help myself.”

“I’m not _like_ that,” said Bucky, stepping in closer, and Clint pushed him back so Bucky’s back hit the wall.

“You shoved past me, you assumed. You didn’t ask if I was cool, or if I wanted help. You _assumed._ ”

Bucky glared. “Sorry if I wanted to protect you and keep you safe. It’s got _nothin’_ to do with if I think you’re capable and _everthin’_ with not wanting to see you get curb stomped by yourself.”

Clint, torn between wanting to keep lecturing and unwillingly touched, gave Bucky another shove. Bucky’s hands were on his arms, stopping him, they were so close together, and Clint’s tasted blood as they kissed. He had no idea where it was coming from, just that Bucky’s lips were crushing into his. He didn’t know who started it and didn’t care as his hands came up and tugged at Bucky’s long hair, pulling him into him. Bucky was panting, Clint’s hand fumbled at a doorknob behind him and they stumbled into a dark room.

The music at once dulled as Bucky kicked the door shut. His hands were all over Clint and Clint licked at the cut on his lip again, making Bucky gasp, turn his head, sink his teeth into Clint’s neck. He pulled on Bucky’s hair again as they both fell onto the bed, pushing through an uncomfortable mass of coats.

Maybe this was the rudest thing he could think of to do but he couldn’t stop. He kissed Bucky harder and faster, his hands finding Bucky’s fly. He wiggled out of his shirt when prompted, unwilling to stop kissing, to stop this frenzy of need.

“I want you to fuck me,” said Clint, tugging at Bucky’s hair again, hips coming up as Bucky yanked his jeans down.

“Christ, all I’ve got is a condom, I don’t-“ said Bucky, obvious need in his voice.

“So eat me out,” said Clint, “saliva will be enough. I can take it, I have before.”

Bucky flipped Clint with an aggressive move, pressing him against the sheets as coats fell to the floor. Clint panted, fingers dragging over the pillow his face was pressed into as Bucky first bit into one ass cheek and his fingers spread Clint. His tongue felt good, rubbing over his entrance. It had been awhile since he’d been eaten out and Clint was reminded of how much he loved it, as Bucky pushed his tongue against him, one hand gripping his hip, the other stroking at Clint’s cock.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck,”_ Clint was moaning against the pillow, rolling his hips, as Bucky held on and licked inside of him, getting Clint so wet he was sure he was glistening. Clint’s cock leaked against Bucky’s stroking hand, pushing Clint so close to the edge he could hardly stand it and yet he never reached that release.

Bucky pulled away and was kissing Clint’s back as a finger slid easily inside of him. Clint panted, squirming and nodding against the pillows. “Do it, do it now before it all evaporates. Fuck me, Bucky!”

There was a shuffle, then the rip of tinfoil. “Thank Christ for lubed condoms,” said Bucky, and Clint laughed, the sound turning into a moan at the touch of Bucky’s cock against his entrance. “Ready?”

Clint turned, shoving Bucky down onto the bed. He straddled him, lining himself up with Bucky’s cock, and controlled everything as he sank down onto him. At first it burned a little, but Clint was well practiced at this, at just having the bare minimum, and soon the two of them were fucking roughly, Clint’s hands scratching at Bucky’s chest, Bucky’s fingers tight on Clint’s hips.

There was something good about this, about a raw fuck like he hadn’t had with another person in too long. He could remember the guys he’d been with before the end with Phil, how he’d done it like this too and how free it felt. His mouth was dry as he panted and moaned and the bed squeaked. Someone was knocking at the door but he could hardly care and he just moved quicker, pain mixing with the pleasure as Bucky started stroking his cock.

He looked down, a comment about Bucky’s over protectiveness dying on his lips to see the need and want and devotion in Bucky’s eyes. Clint felt sexy like this, felt himself shiver and stiffen as his orgasm rushed in on him, coming with a few more strokes of Bucky’s hand, and he bore down, fucking himself on Bucky through it until Bucky was coming too, yanking Clint down, kissing him hard and needy, biting at each other until they tasted blood, until both of them were shivering.

Clint pulled off, collapsing over Bucky. He felt a pleasant sort of ache that would mean real soreness tomorrow but he could hardly find it in himself to care. Rough sex, no matter the consequences, was always good. He kissed the side of his face, shivering again as Bucky’s arms wrapped around his back. The knocking had stopped, leaving them both breathless and alone in the room.

“We should fight more often,” said Bucky, and Clint laughed a touch breathlessly.

“You’re not off the hook,” said Clint. “The hook is your home until I decide otherwise.”

“Noted,” said Bucky, “just so long as you give me a chance to get off of it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know sex without lube is painful, but it's not impossible (I did my research!) so while it's not ideal it's totally possible with the right and willing partner, especially if they have experience with it


	6. Chapter 6

Somewhere amongst the coats Clint heard his phone buzzing. He pulled his head off of Bucky’s chest and started rummaging, looking for it. Bucky watched him as Clint stepped off the bed and started shuffling amongst their clothes.

“Scale of one to ten,” said Clint, picking it out of his pants, “how pissed do you think everyone will be we fucked in the coat room?”

“I’m sure worse has happened, but I’d guess and say it’s a solid ten,” said Bucky, sitting up.

Clint checked his messages. It was from Bruce, wondering how the argument had devolved into sex.

“So do you want to tell me what exactly set you off?” asked Bucky, as Clint texted Bruce back.

“Not really,” Clint replied, who was fairly sure the argument had made the reason evident anyway. Deciding it had been long enough with cuddles when people were going to want their things, he started getting dressed, picking through the discarded clothes.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” said Bucky, also getting dressed now.

“Life’s not fair. I should know, my brother told me.” Clint pulled on his shirt.

Bucky came around the bed, arms over his bare chest. Even though Bucky was angry, Clint still felt a twitch of interest to see a fucking Adonis of a man looking at him, half naked and covered with sweat. He wanted to fuck him again and again and _again…_

“Look,” said Clint, now rummaging for the hoodie he called his coat, “I’m pretty sure I made it clear that I don’t like being found helpless.”

“There’s more to it than that,” said Bucky.

Clint made a face. “And if I _don’t_ want to fucking say? If I’d _rather_ not get into the colossal fuck up that was my last relationship and just pretend like things are going good and smooth right now? Like we fucked, we made up. Hell, I’m not even mad anymore. So drop it.”

“No,” said Bucky. “You can’t just _drop_ something like that. I want to know, so I don’t fuck up in the future.”

Future. At least that meant Bucky wanted one with him, head case though he was.

“Fine. Rain check, whether you like it or not. I’m not talking about this now. Not without more beer and more time, got it?”

Clint ignored further protests, heading for the door. He opened it to the faces of the angry owners of the house. “Sorry!” he said cheerfully. “If it helps, I only came on him and he wiped it up with his sock!”

Clint was at least thankful that random sex was to be expected at most parties, especially one like this, so he managed to get out of it with a few sorry’s and a lot of ‘it won’t happen again! I won’t show up next time!’

He’d hoped Bucky having to make the same excuses might have helped his case, but Clint found himself outside with an angry Steve and an equally angry Bucky, and no ride home. This left late night Portland transit or having to put up with Bucky in the car for a little while.

“I can take the bus,” said Clint somewhat meekly, but Bucky gave him a dark look.

“You are not going all the way from here _alone._ ”

“Not helpless, remember?” Clint snapped.

“It’s past midnight, Clint,” said Steve patiently. “He doesn’t mean you’re helpless, he means he’s worried about everyone who crawls out of the woodwork this time of night. Just ride home with us, okay?”

Clint was about to tell Steve off too, but he couldn’t. For whatever reason, while arguing with Bucky seemed easy it wasn’t the same with Steve. After a moment he grumbled and nodded. “Alright, fine,” he said, and spared a look at Bucky while he took the back seat and snapped the door shut. Bucky took the front anyway.

The ride was quiet, considering how late it was. Clint was happy to be back at his apartment, and muttered a _thanks_ and was going to be gone without a good-bye when Bucky said something to Steve and was getting out of the car too.

“Do we have to do this?” asked Clint. It was cold out and he just wanted to get upstairs and go to sleep. It was already starting to sprinkle, threatening rain for the rest of the night.

Bucky sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Just… talk to me about it when you can.”

Clint stared at him. He had half a mind to tell Bucky off again when he rubbed the back of his head and looked away. “When I can and not a moment sooner was exactly as planned. Maybe never.”

“Clint.”

Clint kicked a rock in response. “Okay whatever. Can I go now?”

Bucky shifted. “I guess you’d bite my head off if I said, ‘can I kiss you?”

Clint wasn’t sure he could think of a time when someone had actually asked after a fight, and hadn’t just stormed off.  He considered giving Bucky a ‘hell no,’ and being done with it, but he shrugged, nodded, and stepped in close.

The kiss was soft and brief. “I guess you’re off the hook,” said Clint. “You weren’t really on it after the sex, but just so you know. Also you owe me Voodoo Donuts or something because I said so.”

Bucky grinned. “Sure, why the hell not. Night.”

“Night.”

++

Clint’s impatience and anger over being coddled didn’t last long. When he was more sober and less pissed off he knew that Bucky hadn’t done anything quite like what Phil used to do. Mixed with some fucking that had followed over the next few weeks, he was back to normal. He still hadn’t explained what was wrong to Bucky, however.

If there was anything Clint had hated more from his relationship with Phil it was being coddled. He wasn’t sure why a lot of people seemed to assume he gave off some kind of helpless vibe when he was obviously anything but. He knew how to fight, he knew how to shoot, and he had a special talent with arrows, but people thought this way anyway and it seemed to only double with Phil. Clint hadn’t minded at first, of course, but by the end of their relationship only threads were hanging from what they had been.

He and Bucky weren’t dating though, or at least Clint wasn’t sure. They didn’t do anything remotely date-like. While Phil had liked restaurants and going to see movies, the most Bucky had done that way was taking Clint out to the food carts twice and other than that, they just… hung out. They were sort of like friends who fucked, and Clint wanted to say _boyfriend_ but he wasn’t sure if he had the right yet. He’d never had a relationship go this way.

Bucky, though, did start to conform to Clint’s schedule. Every day Clint worked, which had become almost every day regardless, Bucky would show up, sometimes with Steve, order, and chat him up over the counter. When Steve was there, he’d order and sit in the corner drawing quietly and sometimes shooting glances at Natasha, which Clint thought was fucking adorable. He wasn’t sure Natasha was in to the small, quiet and artsy type of guys but Steve’s crush was pretty obvious.

Right now Clint dawdled on the sidewalk. He had his case with his bow and arrows slung over one shoulder, looking more or less suspicious, but he was sure the tray of coffee he held counterbalanced it. He was outside of _Coffee Grounds_ and waiting for his ride. Bucky had decided he wanted to see Clint shoot and figure out if Clint was as good as he was or not. At least it was nice for a fall day, the sun was shining and drying up the vestiges of rain clinging to the sidewalk.

“Clint?”

Clint felt his stomach drop. He didn’t want to hear that voice. He was going to see Bucky. The last thing he wanted was a memory of Phil to dampen his day. He turned anyway, though, and tried not to glare at him. He was going to be more or less civil.

“Hi,” he said, a little surprised to see Phil out of his work suit. He must be off for a bit, Clint figured. He didn’t like that a little piece of his mind liked the way Phil was wearing that leather jacket and that silly vintage Batman T-shirt.

“Figured you’d be working, but saw you out here. You’re not planning on going on the bus with those, are you?”

“Of course I am. I’m going to terrorize the Red Line and become the Scourge of Portland,” said Clint, looking away. “I’m getting a ride, Phil. Bucky’s picking me up. He wants to see me shoot.”

“Good,” said Phil.

Clint looked back, raising an eyebrow. _Good?_ _What does that even mean?_

“Don’t get me wrong,” Phil continued, walking along side of him. “I still think dating him is a terrible idea, but at least he’s taking an interest.”

“Oh, right, the background check. Because _that’s_ not creepy at all. And what did you find out?” Clint had to admit, despite how creepy it _was_ that Phil was looking into those he fucked he was sort of curious.

“A classified record. I couldn’t get far.”

Clint’s heart thumped a little. _Classified?_ “Really?”

“Really. So be careful. If the military is clamping down that hard on his past, maybe you might want to think twice. Although it _is_ nice he wants to see you shoot. You’re a good shot.”

Clint felt a prickle of irritation. Any favor garnered from a bit of the old Clint was gone as the new Clint stepped up to the plate. “What is this, some of your weirdo gestapo reverse psychology crap?”

There was a flash of purple in the sunlight as the old beater pulled up in front of them. Phil looked annoyed, and Clint turned to him, still with his dander up.

“It’s not anything like that,” said Phil. “You always overreact.”

“Overreact? This is overreact.” Clint gave him the finger. “Me asking you if you’re trying to manipulate me out of seeing Bucky is not overreacting.”

Phil crossed his arms. “Sorry I’d rather see you with someone stable than with someone potentially dangerous, Clint. I care about you enough to want that.”

“And I care about you enough, Phil, that if you don’t step off on my new relationship soon I’m…” Clint tried to think of something, but he had shit all. “I’m gonna do something,” he said lamely.

Phil smirked. A token of the old Phil, always joking about Clint’s poor way with words.

“I mean you hardly liked any of my friends without wanting me to leave them alone.”

“You fucked one of them. Pardon me.”

Clint bristled. “Okay, conversation over.” Clint opened the back door to the Neon and put his arrows and bow inside before getting in the front. The last thing he’d wanted was to be reminded of his dalliances. Phil was shaking his head and walking away, and Clint wished he’d just get the fuck out of his life. Phil had his shit, he didn’t need Clint around anymore, didn’t need anything from him and Clint certainly didn’t need Phil. It boggled the mind why he was still around being a pain in his ass.

“Everything alright?” asked Bucky.

Clint sighed. “As alright as it ever is with that guy. Let’s go.” He wondered what Bucky would feel, knowing that Clint had cheated on Phil before the end of their relationship, and more than once. It had probably been one of the stupider things he’d done in the relationship, and he did regret it a little now. It had been one of the major tipping points in the break up.

Bucky put the car into drive, sparing a glance at the tray of coffees. “Three? Steve’s not coming, remember?”

“I know,” said Clint. “Just trust me. You got Voodoo?”

“I got Voodoo,” he assured Clint, who immediately turned around to spy the pink box in the back seat and licked his lips. It would be a good after-archery treat.

The drive out of the city took about twenty-five minutes and Clint was eager to get out and see one of his besties, Kate Bishop. He bid Bucky good-bye and left him at the stands as he went off to the training ground where the rest of the class stood and spoke in groups.

He found Kate standing alone, typing on her cellphone and looking as gorgeous as ever in her designer label clothes and a pair of purple framed, round lens Ray Ban’s. Only she would turn up to an archery practice wearing clothes that looked mostly suited to a runway, but she was stupidly rich.

“Hawkeye,” he said, and grinned.

“Hawkeye,” she replied, snapping her phone off. “You look disheveled.”

“You look spoiled.”

Clint of course rarely bothered to brush his hair and he had a scrape on his cheek from play fighting with Bucky, so as usual he looked like a delinquent. This was their usual sort of conversation, though. The Hawkeye piece came from Clint’s original archery club nickname, and when Kate had shown up and proved herself to be Clint’s equal (or very nearly, as Clint was wont to say just to piss her off) she’d gotten the title too.

She slipped her phone into her back pocket and turned to look at the stands. Bucky was the only one there who wasn’t a parent of a child in the junior division. “Who is that sexy specimen I wonder?”

“He’s with me,” said Clint, a touch proud.

She smiled. “Well then. Looks like you’ve upgraded from granddad. Congratulations.”

“Screw off,” he said, but laughed anyway. She’d never liked Phil.

The teacher called attention forward. The reason they were outside for the last practice of the year was for shooting clay pigeons. Clint strung his bow and pulled his arrows out, strapping his quiver to his hip the same as Kate.

The class worked on recurves and long bows. Both Kate and Clint preferred the recurve to the long bow, which was good because when they competed they were on equal footing.

Clint pulled the bowstring taught, felt the arrow between his fingers, focused on the sky. The clay pigeon fired and so did Clint, anticipating its trajectory. For the briefest of moments, Clint felt things slow down, he let out a breath, the string released, and the arrow flew true on its intended course. The disk shattered.

“Nice,” said Kate. “My turn!”

Their teachers wanted them both to try out for the Olympics, but both of them turned down the opportunity. Clint wasn’t sure Kate’s reasons, but he had his own. He didn’t want the competition and all the bother of having to travel somewhere. Sure, it’d probably be a blast, but he liked knowing he was the best personally and privately instead of having to prove it somewhere.

Class ended with he and Kate tied for hits, neither having missed a single one, and they went over to Bucky with their things feeling pleased with themselves.

“Large chocolate caramel chai,” said Clint, lifting the somewhat cooled latte from the carton and handing it to Kate, “and Filipino medium roast for me.” Bucky, of course, had already finished his coffee by the looks of things. He took a sip, then remembered his manners. “Right. Kate, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is Kate. She’s as spoiled as she looks.”

Kate shook Bucky’s hand and sat down next to the box of Voodoo Donuts. “Someone went to a lot of trouble.” Voodoo made the best donuts in the city, but they also had the biggest lineups in the city when it came to ordering anything.

“Help yourself. They’re redemption donuts, it makes them taste better,” said Clint.

“It’s not redemption anymore. I just promised I’d get you some at some point,” said Bucky, rolling his eyes.

“Mmmm, redemption. Tastes like regret.” She picked out a little voodoo man and bit off his arm.

Clint grinned and sat next to Bucky. He took one with cocoa puffs.

“So you’re a pretty good shot,” said Bucky, leaning over the box to find his own. “I’d have to see you with a gun, but you might even be better than me. Both of you.”

Clint shook his head. “I don’t do guns.”

“Me neither,” said Kate, halfway through her second donut. Apparently she’d worked up an appetite, and something in Clint loved that she was thin and graceful and everything a spoiled rich girl was expected to be, and at the same time didn’t bitch or whine about calories and wasn’t petty.

“Pity,” said Bucky. “Guess we’ll never know if you’re better.”

“Oh, oh we are,” said Kate, and she grinned.

Clint crunched away on his donut, somewhere in nirvana, but when he swallowed he gave Bucky a look. He thought back to what Phil had said, about Bucky’s background being classified. All Clint knew was that Bucky had been in the army, he’d never said _what_ he’d done in the army. Of course Clint hadn’t asked, but because of Phil his curiosity was piqued.

Clint took a sip of coffee and licked his lips. “So… what did you do in the army, Buck?”

“This’n’that,” said Bucky, more interested in his donut which was slathered with chocolate and peanut butter frosting. “I wasn’t really important.”

“So what you’re saying is, it’s classified,” said Clint. Just saying what Phil had said bothered him, but now he really wanted to know.

“Basically, yep.” Bucky finished his, drained the last of his coffee. Clint figured he’d better just drop it before he incriminated himself.

Kate’s phone buzzed. “Ahh. Tommy. I gotta go,” she stood up and slung her bow and quiver over one shoulder. “Good to meet you Bucky. I gotta say, you’re quite the improvement over Daddy Warbucks.”

 _“Christ,_ Kate.”

Kate grinned, blew them a kiss, and then walked off down the bleachers. “I’ll see you at _Coffee_ Grounds tomorrow, Boss!”

Bucky was laughing as he gathered their things.

“What did I say?” asked Clint, picking up his own bags. “Total spoiled brat.”

Walking back to the car, though, Clint jumped a bit when Bucky took his hand. He looked down at the way their fingers joined together, then back up at Bucky, a touch confused.

Bucky looked a little nervous a moment then glanced away, cheeks red. “What, we’re dating, aren’t we?”

 _Aren’t we?_ Thought Clint. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well. So long as you’re sure.” Bucky’s fingers twitched and Clint’s fingers tightened in response.

“Yeah. Yeah I guess we are.”


	7. Chapter 7

Clint was dreaming. He knew it mostly because he wasn’t supposed to be able to look at himself during day to day life, but he was powerless to do anything but watch. This was fine, though. He was practicing archery, with Kate. For some reason his arrows kept either melting or missing the target while she did every single shot with perfect ease. It wasn’t fair, and he said it over and over again as he kept trying to shoot his arrows and just kept missing.

Bucky came along then, being sweet, trying to teach him how to fire, but still every arrow missed his target no matter what advice Bucky gave him. It either fell sort, hit the ground by his feet or otherwise flew off into an infinite distance that swallowed each one up like a hungry beast.

Clint was getting frustrated. Bucky was still trying to talk sweetly to him, but he was starting to have a temper tantrum because he was _Clint Barton_ and he was a _superhero god damn it and he’s not supposed to miss._ Kate just laughed and told him to lay off the coffee, Bucky rubbed his shoulders.

Clint tried to fire again after Kate brought the target closer, but Bucky’s hands were starting to squeeze. He asked him to stop, but it was getting worse and worse, and Clint couldn’t straighten out to make his shot. Bucky’s breathing was hot and his fingers were digging into Clint’s skin without mercy.

 _“No!”_ said Bucky, firmly, his hand tight on Clint’s shoulder.

“Bucky, let go!” he said, trying to jerk away, “I’m trying to practice.”

 _“No! Please!”_ Bucky’s voice took on a pleading edge.

Clint frowned, trying to move, still begging Bucky not to hurt him when he became aware of the feeling of a broad, hairy chest beneath his cheek, the scent of skin and blankets, and an actual struggle.

Clint’s eyes snapped open, revealing darkness. His shoulders were caught in a tight grip and Bucky was arguing with someone, though who Clint couldn’t say. All he knew was that Bucky was _strong_ and hard to get away from. It wasn’t the first night spent together, but it was the first away from Bucky’s bed and their first without sex, just sleeping.

“Bucky,” he pleaded, wiggling.

In the dim light coming in from Clint’s window he could see Bucky’s face pinched with pain. Bucky was crying, begging with someone. Clint had never seen him like this before, so vulnerable and afraid. Using his forearms he pushed against Bucky’s until his grip broke, and he winced as Bucky’s hands found his hips.

He had to wake him up before things got bad. He didn’t want to imagine Bucky getting angry at this point.

“Bucky, please,” he said, drawing himself up higher to cup at Bucky’s face. He stroked his cheeks with his thumbs, looking at his closed eyelids. “Wake up, man. Please, wake up.” He licked his lips, stroked him again, and kissed his forehead. “Please wake up, Buck. Please. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re not alone, I’ve got you.”

It took awhile of this, wiggling from Bucky’s grasp and pleading with him until Bucky finally stilled and then opened his eyes.

Clint looked beseechingly into them, hoping that this wasn’t a night terror continuing over to his conscious side, when Bucky smiled at him and Clint sighed in relief, dropping his head to Bucky’s shoulder for a moment. That had been painful, and frightening. Bucky had warned him of nightmares before but he’d never really got into how bad they could get.

Bucky’s touches were soothing now, and his kisses against Clint’s hair soft and sweet. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” asked Bucky, his hand running over Clint’s abused hip.

“Something like that,” said Clint against his shoulder. “You, uh. Got pretty grabby.”

“Shit,” said Bucky, sitting up and knocking Clint loose. A moment later his bedside light was on and Clint was blinking like an owl. Bucky however was leaning over him, probing at him. There were no bruises, at least not yet, but his shoulders and hips were red from Bucky’s hands. “Oh shit, babe, I’m so sorry. Oh fuck, Clint, I didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t,” said Clint. He rubbed his shoulder, then flicked out the light for the return of blessed darkness and leaned against Bucky’s chest again. “Must have been some nightmare.”

“Just a bit, yeah,” said Bucky. “I’m so, so sorry.”

They were quite for a minute or two, and Clint listened to his heartbeat, counted each one. He’d just hit one hundred when he decided to break the silence before Bucky fell asleep again. “Want to talk about it?”

Bucky didn’t reply right away, just kept stroking Clint’s sore shoulders. After a moment he sighed. “I’m not sure.”

“The war?” asked Clint.

Bucky grunted his reply.

“If you’d rather not talk about it, then-“

“No,” said Bucky, “I _should_ talk about it. It’s just difficult.”

“I know that feeling.”

They were quiet again for a little while, and Clint sighed. “I’ll show you yours if you show me mine?”

Bucky chuckled. “I can get behind that. Already seen yours though.”

“And I yours,” said Clint. “No, I mean like… I’ll tell you why I was such a tight ass at that party and you tell me a little – what you can – about your dream. Maybe it’ll help.”

Bucky nodded. “Sounds fair.”

He shifted, and Clint made a small sound of protest when he found himself laying on his side, more or less alone, looking across the pillow at Bucky. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about Phil or anything without being very drunk, but he’d made an offer and had to back it up now.

“I guess I’ll give you the short version,” said Clint, playing with Bucky’s hand and having trouble meeting his eyes. “When Phil and I first started it was… like something out of a coffee shop romance that people like. Phil would come in, buy his coffees. At first I wasn’t too into him, but I started becoming attracted to his sense of humour, his little stories. I guess if you classified us he’d be generic male and I’d be the manic pixie. I showed interest in his things, we flirted, and even though Bruce thought I was crazy I got his number.”

Clint took a moment to pause here, trying to think of what to say. How could he explain the way the relationship fell apart without a five minute monologue? There was so much that he could bitch about now, but he wasn’t sure what made him immature and what made him right. He had no idea what was his fault or what was Phil’s fault.

“There was a lot of things wrong, mostly we weren’t entirely compatible. I don’t want to get into it but in every way that I’m a young adult he was _so much_ older than me. And it didn’t become really apparent until about six months in when we were sleeping at his place most of the time, we were talking about moving in… and the fights started. There were sort of… conditions he wanted me to meet to be with him. He’d say it’s him wanting better for me but why would they be needed when I was happy with what I was doing?”

“That’s a tough one,” said Bucky, and Clint shook his head and smiled.

“Go ahead, he meant well.”

“He meant well,” said Bucky.

“Yeah. But the problem was the fights. It wasn’t him gently steering me after a while. There were fights about school, fights about a better job – a job in private security. And I’m pretty sure that can break down to be willing to hurt people for money. I have no problem fighting, I have no qualms about violence when it’s needed, but not for money, not like that. So we fought. We fought about that, and we fought about my friends. From the outside it maybe looks a lot simpler, but on the inside it felt like I was a mission, someone he needed to fix when I don’t want fixing. Eventually he started using the words childish, and maybe I was… but what kind of person runs background checks on someone’s friends?”

“Holy shit. Like on Bruce?”

“Yeah, and Thor, and Natasha. He knew things about Tasha he had no right knowing whatsoever. Things she’d told me in confidence that I’d never repeated.”

“That… is creeptacular.”

“Yeah. So Things were adding up, the overprotectiveness, his… idea that I somehow couldn’t take care of myself. Well I’m not exactly old, I’m learning, right? But he has this idea that I’m helpless to defend or take care of myself. Like I wasn’t so much a boyfriend as a mission.” _And a tiny piece remembers that I loved him,_ he thought, and shook his head. It was only a small piece, though. Clint was disillusioned about the charms of older men. “I was immature as fuck, but I wasn’t the only one in the wrong.”

Bucky kissed him after a moment. “I’m sorry things were shit with Phil. So that’s why you don’t like being protected? Because he sort of coddled you?”

Clint nodded. “I can take care of myself. Sort of.”

“Makes sense.”

Clint sighed, though, rubbing his eyes. “I still have to wonder if I am exaggerating.”

“Are you?”

Clint shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’m certainly omitting.”

Bucky shook his head. “Well, exaggerating over the coddling or not, the background checks are still creepy as fuck.” He paused. “What are you omitting?”

Clint swallowed. This was the hard to admit part. “I cheated on him.”

“Ah.” Bucky was quiet a moment, and Clint hoped it wasn’t because he was rethinking them. Clint’s proclivities to that sort of thing were something he hated about himself, but it also seemed to be something he had trouble controlling. His impulsiveness was a positive quirk as much as it was a regrettable habit. “Well… was it when you were in a bad situation or… before?”

“Near the end.” He let out a breath. “It was with one of Kate’s friends, this guy named Tommy. We were never serious, just fucked a few times. Phil found out from my cell phone and deducing my laundry. It just felt _good_ , you know? Fucking someone my age with no strings attached and no worrying about fighting the next morning.”

“Well, you were escaping a bad situation. It’s a… well, it’s not a _good_ thing to do, but I don’t hate you for it, okay?”

“Okay.” Clint sighed and mussed up his hair. “I’ve never even given Bruce the rundown of my bitches. And I’m sure Phil has plenty about me.” He paused. “I’m a bit of an asshole.”

“So?” it was Bucky’s turn to shrug as he sat up in the bed and brought Clint with him, cuddling him. “So maybe you’re remembering things wrong, that doesn’t make him right and somehow you are the bad guy. Maybe you’re both bad in this situation. From what it sounds to me the whole thing was fucked.”

“That’s true. God, sorry I’m being a headcase.”

“Maybe a little.”

Clint snorted. “Anyway, that’s _my_ story. I’m sure Phil could give you something different entirely. But I do distinctly remember him calling me childish and immature on more than one occasion.”

“Well, his idiotic decision is my gain.” Bucky nipped Clint’s ear. “You maybe are a little immature but so am I.”

“Pfft. Asshole.”

“Jerkwad,” he replied, and the two of them laughed. Clint had to wonder if maybe this was another one of those ‘romances’ you heard about, as he met Bucky’s eyes in the darkness. Maybe they weren’t conventional or some match made in heaven, but here they were laughing and teasing and being honest which was more than Clint was used to being, to be honest.

Clint snuggled in closer. “So you can tell me about your dreams and stuff if you want.” He had to admit, he was still curious about how Bucky was _classified_ information. There was a definite story there. He wasn’t sure it was one he’d ever hear, unfortunately, but there was a story there nonetheless.

“I was a sniper,” said Bucky after a moment. “I can’t say much about my work because I’m not _allowed._ But that’s what I did.”

“Oh,” said Clint, surprised. Sniping had always bothered him even if it was what he was good at. It was a personal kill. Clint didn’t believe in killing, which was why he’d never joined the army when his brother had begged him to sign up with him. And sniping was killing of an entire different nature, would possibly have been what Clint would have done. Long range, precision shots.

“I can’t get into what I did, but I can tell you I was dreaming about when I fell.”

“Fell?” Clint frowned.

“Oh. I guess I never told you that part. When the landmine went off I was by a gully and I fell… a far way. Everyone thought I was dead.”

“But you were found.”

“By the wrong people. I can’t get into that though. Sorry.”

Clint wondered about that. “So you were sort of a classified-y, special ops sort of thing,” said Clint.

Bucky nodded. “Sort of. I took an oath though to keep it to myself.”

“Fair enough,” said Clint. “Makes my story sound like the whining of a pathetic child.”

“Hey, hey no. It was a bad relationship. I mean, sure you loved him at first, but it was bad. You don’t sound like a child for having a shitty ass time and getting the hell out okay? No matter how much it hurts after.”

Clint leaned in and kissed him. “God, thank-you.”

“I’m not God, but I can see how you’d think I am one. At least in bed.”

“Smartass.”

Bucky laughed and kissed him back. Clint pulled away, and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “I’m not sure what to say about your injury.”

“Just go with sorry. Sorry is plenty, okay? I’ve dealt with what happened, more or less.”

Clint nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry you got hurt. I’ll do my best to keep it from happening again.”

“Thank-you,” said Bucky, kissing him again. “That means a lot.”

Clint had been planning on just snuggling and falling asleep in his arms again, but Bucky gently rolled him, began to kiss him deeper. Clint had to admit, he liked where this was going more than sleep. Bucky framed his face with his hands as he nudged Clint’s legs apart, and Clint went with it, reaching up to lace his fingers in Bucky’s long hair.

A part of him wanted to make it loud and messy. Hell, he always wanted it loud and messy. But after baring some of themselves to the other somehow it just didn’t feel quite right. It felt good to cede control and let things be slow and sensual. He hadn’t had slow in a long time, too long.

Bucky ran his hands down Clint’s chest and then back up, pushing his shirt with it. Clint just closed his eyes and let his head fall back as Bucky pressed small kisses along his sternum, occasionally chasing them with a swipe of his tongue. He wiggled out of his shirt, then raised his hips for Bucky as he pulled down his boxers. By then he was hard, and Bucky gave him a teasing lick that had Clint whining for more contact.

“Roll over,” said Bucky, and Clint did as he was told, stretching catlike in the sheets and rubbing his erection against the mattress.

Bucky started up his little kisses again, now giving little bites along with the swipes of his tongue until Clint was really rubbing himself against the sheets and groaning softly into his pillow. Bucky just chuckled, biting lightly on his ass.

“Are you relaxed?”

“Mnngh.”

Bucky laughed again, kissing his tailbone. “Good.”

He rummaged a moment and Clint spread his legs, hugged his pillow, and waited impatiently for the _snik_ of the lube cap and the first press of his fingers. He was rewarded a moment later with a push of Bucky’s fingers and he moaned into his pillow, rocking his hips back.

“You’re a very impatient boy. I should punish you,” said Bucky.

 _Well,_ thought Clint, as he gasped, _that should not have an effect on me the way it has._

“Another time, make with the sexing.”

Bucky didn’t, though, and Clint whimpered as he pulled his fingers away. _Bastard!_

“Did that turn you on? I think that _did._ Maybe you need punishment _now._ ” Bucky shifted and before Clint could look, see what he was doing, he yelped from a sharp smack on his ass. It made him blush hot and grind into the bed a moment. “Oh ho, I never took you for a masochist, Clint.”

Clint groaned. “I – sorta? Never really… explored it.”

“So you like it when I bite. You like it when you get _spanked._ I wonder what else you’d like. Like being told to be a good boy,” Clint moaned a little at this, “and to beg.”

Bucky laughed, like he was delighted with this discovery, and Clint blushed and hid his head. Sure, he was up for a little exploration of these discoveries at some point but he wanted to be fucked _now._ So he spread his legs and reached down between himself and started teasing at his entrance, slow at first.

“See what I really want?” he said, turning to look over his shoulder. Bucky’s eyes were glued on his hand, and his cock was straining against his briefs. “I want to get fucked.”

“I think you want to get spanked again for misbehaving,” said Bucky, and Clint cursed under his breath for what that voice _did_ to him like this. “But I suppose I could just fuck you. If you beg for it.”

Clint whimpered and dropped his hand. Bucky was serious about all this. Apparently he’d discovered an inner Dom in Bucky as well as a newfound sub in Clint.

Like a good boy, he got up and turned until he was kneeling in front of Bucky and drooped his shoulders and head to make himself look smaller than his new ‘master.’ “Please, Bucky,” he said, his voice pleading, “I need your cock. I need you to fuck me, even though I’ve been a bad and impatient boy. I want to be good for you, and I need this from you. I’ll be so good if you do!”

Bucky groaned, standing up and pulling off his briefs. Clint moaned to see his cock, clenched up a little in anticipation, and resisted throwing himself back on the bed and begging some more. He didn’t want to move, not until he had the okay because if they were going to do this Clint was going to show Bucky that he could be a good boy as well as a bad one.

“On your back, spread your legs,” said Bucky, and Clint complied at once, scrambling into position.

He posed himself for Bucky, expecting to get fingered again, but Bucky took Clint’s ankles in his right hand and raised them, lifting Clint’s hips off the bed. Clint loved to see the muscles strain against Bucky’s skin, proving how _built_ he was, and he licked his lips.

He hissed, though, in pain and pleasure as Bucky slapped one cheek with his left hand. “That’s for being impatient,” said Bucky, who then slapped the other, “and that’s for touching yourself without permission.”

Bucky lay Clint back down, rubbing his ass gently, before spreading his legs again. There was another _snik_ sound from the tube of KY and Clint wiggled, finally about to be fucked. “Think you can take me now?” asked Bucky, slicking up his cock.

Clint nodded. “Yes, yes sir!” he said, getting into his role.

Bucky made a sound, then, of need. He leaned in and started rubbing his cock along the cleft of Clint’s ass before finding his entrance and pushing. Clint whimpered, arching his back, and bit into his lip as he tried to adjust without any preparation. Bucky was so _big,_ but he felt so perfect.

The rhythm started slow, for Clint to adjust. In all honesty Clint was a bit of a size queen, and Bucky was the perfect width for him. He arched his back and rocked down, moaning. He imagined Thor in the next room, all the sleepless nights because he and his girlfriend had had marathon sex that would put his Fertility god namesake to shame, and grinned because now it was his turn.

“What are you smiling about?” asked Bucky, as he pushed in all the way and Clint scratched at the sheets, hissing in pleasure.

“Thor. All the times he kept me up. And now it’s my turn to repay him.”

“While I’m sad you’re thinking of another man while I’m balls deep inside of you, this is true facts.”

“You can punish me later, sir. Right now just fuck me until the bed hits the wall.”

“You got it,” said Bucky, leaning down, capturing Clint’s lips in a kiss as he started to thrust, faster, harder, making the bed move and Clint’s toes curl.

Each thrust was making Clint moan, open mouthed and needy. The bed squeaked, Bucky was grunting, looking pleased with himself, but it wasn’t enough. Clint reached up and scratched at Bucky’s shoulders, making Bucky hiss and thrust harder.

“Fuck yes,” said Clint, grinning.

“You are so getting punished for this later,” said Bucky, “but first,” he took Clint’s wrists in his right hand, pinning them over Clint’s head, his muscles tight and visible. Clint loved it, loved the look of his abs and his pec’s and his bulging biceps. Clint’s fingers tingled from lack of sensation but it didn’t matter when Bucky took his weaker hand and started to stroke Clint’s bouncing cock.

He came with numb hands and pleasure making his hips spasm, come painting his stomach. Bucky leaned down and kissed him, releasing his hands. Their tongues pushed together and Bucky made a high sound of need that sounded so sweet and sexy from someone like him. Clint rocked back down on him, slick and needy for more as Bucky came, pulsing in him. Clint could feel his pulse, felt connected to him in so many ways.

When Bucky’s eyes opened, tired and happy, Clint smiled back at him. The smile hurt, it made his eyes want to prickle with tears, and his chest hurt too, because at that exact moment Clint realized how much in love he was.

“Such a bad boy,” said Bucky, pressing a kiss to Clint’s head.

“Yours, though,” said Clint.


End file.
